Obedience
by Mina1914
Summary: Owning a pet is common. It's normal for these pets to be humans. Francis couldn't be more thankful to have such a perfect master.
1. Contentment

The soft sound of silverware meeting china repeated, followed by the tweet of birds. The robins today were even more talkative, apparently, Francis observed, gazing up at the oak tree. It sat beside the garden table they were sitting at - with plates of their meal before them. Or, more accurately, Master's guests. Excluding himself.

"-told me that you were going on a trip?"

Hearing Master speak, Francis turned his head to avert his attention to the face of his owner. He stared at the dark green of his irises, and then when Mr. Williams - his Master's friend, apparently - began to speak in reply, he turned his head back to look at the robins.

"Oh, yes. That's what I came to speak to you about.", the foreigner replied softly, Francis hearing him shift in his seat. Mr. Braginski and Mrs. Héderváry were perched on the nicely designed chairs that crowded the garden table (it's design dancing and sparkling with the tiles and painted glass), their eyes drawn between Master and the demure Mr. Williams, attempting to show interest in the little exchange. Bored with the present, Francis exhaled deeply through his nose, in a sigh. He wanted to go in and read, but Master wanted him to attend this stupid dinner with him and his companions.

Reaching up, Francis ran his fingers under his collar - it was itchy under the fine leather, and sweaty. It was annoying, but what to expect in the late summer. It earned him a jerk of his leash from Master, an unnoticeable one at that. Exhaling in annoyance, Francis dropped his hand back onto his thigh, and gazed up at his Master. Really, his feet began to ache from supporting his weight. He was positioned on his knees, his thighs resting back on his calves as he propped up on his feet, his hands resting respectfully on his clothed thighs. His navy blue waistcoat was snug against his torso. The grey tie secured around his neck was pinching his skin though. Master intentionally made it that way, when he was helping him with his tie, no doubt. In retaliation to the past, Francis reached over to tug lightly at the hem of one of Master's pant legs.

Mistaking it for a desire, Master said a quick excuse me to Mr. Williams, who had taken a breath from his talking, and then his dark emerald eyes dropped down to gaze questionably at Francis, his brow quirking. "Yes, darling?", he softly asked, reaching over briefly to stroke his hand over Francis' soft golden locks. Francis squinted at him, and, hidden below the table from the guests, gestured sharply at his tie with a jab of his finger.

A pleased smile barely appeared on Master's lips, but then it was replaced with a thoughtful frown. He gave a pat to Francis' head, before returning to the conversation, withdrawing his hand to raise his tea cup to his waiting lips. Huffing, Francis returned to staring up at the birds perched on the branches of the oak tree. They were crowded together, tweeting and hopping branch to branch. Like humans, Francis mused – talking over each other, moving about for attention, grasping for recognition. This comparison amused Francis momentarily, but Master's paramount voice gripped his wandering attention.

"Oh, yes. He does so well now. He used to protest during baths, but now he is very compliant.", Master basically gushed, and his refined pals passed light laughter around, before he continued, "Although, he insists to care for his..." Francis flickered his eyes up to the sandy haired Englishman, seeing his lips twisting in thought for a proper word. "Stubble. I personally believe it's unpleasant, but I could at least allow some sort of mild control for him. Although it does not effect his behavior, the control. It merely effects his appearance."

Francis' lips lifted to a grin, his spotless teeth revealed behind his lips. When Master cast him a look, Francis blew him a sarcastic kiss. Apparently Mrs. Héderváry spotted the gesture past the rim of the table, and she gave a quick laugh, that earned Master's eyes momentarily. A wary smile appeared on his lips. Well, Francis had to find some way to entertain himself, and if Master was going to involve him in this little meeting, he may as well be apart of it in some way.

"It seems he needs to be disciplined later this evening.", Master said with a humorous tone, and Francis heard a waft of chuckles. Francis frowned.

From then on, Francis decided to remain still. About a measly ten minutes passed before Francis grew restless. He shifted on his shins (which were aching rather uncomfortably), and cracked his long fingers, and then fiddled with his tie or the buttons of his waistcoat. He was startled out of his fidgeting when a sharp sensation of four pokes prodded the base of his neck. Jumping, he jerked his gaze up to see Master laughing to something Mr. Braginski said, but his hand was there, holding a fork. He stabbed him! Maybe he was representing a bad image of Mr. Kirkland's pet, so it was understandable. Just a warning?

The desire to please him over ruled his desire to be mischievous, so Francis straightened his waistcoat, placed his hands flatly on his thighs and then exhaled deeply. The same hand, without the fork this time, rested over the place on his neck where he was prodded, his fingers curling over the back of his neck pleasantly. Closing his eyes, Francis felt the fingers and heard the voices and the tweeting over the birds.

"So, how has Alfred been, Matthew?"

"Impatient and demanding, like usual, but he is still rather charming...he is still more dubious to comply to my requests. I suppose I should make his punishments less mild.."

"Maybe bonding with your pet will urge him to relent?"

"I do attempt to bond with him. But he would rather sleep on his cushion than for me to walk him or read to him."

Francis drones out the rest of the tedious conversation. Are their pets the only thing they ever discuss?

It was about twenty more minutes until Mrs. Héderváry admitted her back was acting up (most likely from her breasts, Francis thought with amusement), and she needed to visit the restroom. That urged Master to bring the lunch to an end, thanking Mr. Braginski, Mr. Williams, and Mrs. Héderváry for stopping by. Francis was startled when Master removed his warm hand from his neck, and stood, his chair scraping the tile as it was pushed back. Looking up at the group of four, Francis watched as Master exchanged handshakes with the two men, and received cheek kisses from Mrs. Héderváry. Annoyance flared deep in Francis' chest as he watched from the tile. Master merely chuckled and then said something to her, urging her to give a gentle smile, before she said good-bye, and disappeared into the maze of bright flowers and young trees, the heels to her exorbitant shoes clicking on the tile pathway as she went.

"Thank you for the meal, Arthur. It was pleasant.", Mr. Braginski spoke to him with a ever-present smile adorning his plush lips. Master returned the smile and Francis bristled, because Master had placed a hand on Mr. Braginski's broad shoulder, and replied with something he couldn't quite catch. Then Mr. Braginski turned, his soft-looking scarf swinging on his large back as he, too, was enveloped in the garden, swallowed by nature. Francis averted his gaze to Mr. Williams and Master. It was more mild.

Mr. Williams only thanked him, smiled shyly, and waited for Master's response, before hurrying out of the scene, leaving Mr. Kirkland and his pet. Francis watched Master. He remained kneeling there, waiting for permission to stand. It was after Master flickered his gaze to Francis', and his dress shoes tapped on the tile as he approached, before Master spoke.

"We need to work on your patience.", he mused, and then straightened his pale grey waistcoat, his thin fingers traveling over the soft fabric. Francis pursed his lips. "Well then", Master spoke after a pause, "You may stand." Francis smirked as he placed a hand on Master's previous seat, and hoisted himself up. Shaking off the protesting ache in his legs, he brushed off the little specks of rock off his slacks.

"Am I permitted to speak?", he sarcastically asked, and was given an unamused look from Master. He chuckled, and then sighed. "Let's not do this again, out here. My legs are about to give out.", he whined, with a hint of humor in his tone, as he approached Master.

"You will kneel wherever I wish.", Master replied sharply, his eyes brushing over Francis' appearance as the Frenchman approached. Francis' soft lips remained in a smile as he brushed his locks back with his hand, and his eyes drifted over Master's apparel once more, admiring the curves of his build and the way he held his posture. The sleeves of Master's button up shirt should be up to his elbows – he would look better that way. He looks like a butler with them down.

Francis gives a laugh and speaks his opinion, "You look like a butler." Master glared and then reached over to hastily fix Francis' tie, and smoothed his hands over his waistcoat, pushing away the wrinkles and creases. "You look like a buffoon.", Master shot back and then, "Oh my mistake, you always do." Francis laughed and then arched a brow, "We are no longer in the seventh grade, Master." Said Master huffed and then patted Francis on the cheek.

"Come, I'm tired and wine sounds pleasant now. And I'm sure it does for you as well.", he says, and then grabs hold of the leash that dangled from Francis' neck, curling it around his fingers for a strong grip. Francis' grin softened and then he nodded. As they began to leave the table, Francis heard the distant clicking of the maids' shoes as they began to clear the garden table, the clatter of dishes following them as they passed through the maze of nature.

* * *

**In the sitting room, 21:32**

With a belly full of wine, Francis was lounging on the expensive couch, his dress shoes rubbing against the cushion, no doubt marking it up, and it only made him giggle a few times, and earned a light scowl from his lovely Master, who was perched on an arm chair, a book in his lap with his legs crossed. Francis' arms were splayed above his head, the back of his hand resting on the arm rest, his other falling off the side of the couch. His hair was haphazard over the cushion, and he was laughing to himself.

"Please tell me you aren't becoming mad, Francis.", Master sighed and closed his book. He had been reading it awfully long, and Francis was wondering if he was ever going to stop. Shaking his head, the back of it digging into the plush cushion, Francis hummed. "Nope, just drunk.", he mused. Then he cringed because he could feel a stomach ache emerging. He supposes it's to be expected, on an empty stomach. Well, not empty. He was going to burst from how much wine he had drank. He wondered why Master let him drink so much. Francis crinkled his nose. Now he was going to be drunk _all day_ and have a head ache later. Oh, but it was late, wasn't it? All night, then.

Master was being irresponsible for letting his pet become so intoxicated. Francis usually held a high alcohol tolerance, but really, he indulged this time.

He heard the groan of Master's chair, and then padding of his shoes as he approached. A hand met the crown of his head, and Francis lolled his head to the side to look at his Master. A worried look was adorning his usually sour features, and he was watching him. Humming, Francis curled onto his side, reaching out to slide his heavy arms around his Master's shoulders, pulling him in close.

Expecting protests, he was mildly surprised, but pleasantly surprised, to find Master sliding his other arm over Francis' stomach, securing it around his midsection. "You shouldn't drink so carelessly, Francis.", Master murmured, staring into his pet's dark ocean colored eyes. Francis slipped one of his hands into Master's short messy hair, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at him lovingly. "You are responsible for your pet, you're at fault here too.", he said quietly, and then gave a sudden obscene giggle. A smile slipped over Master's lips. "I suppose I am.", he admits, before laughing quietly as well.

Silence followed, and they remained in that awkward embrace for a moment, Master crouched down and Francis draped lazily on the couch. Then Francis gave a stuttered exhale before he mumbled, "They should invent a thing where it makes you not drunk." He wasn't trying very hard to correct his lazy vocabulary. That made Master laugh and nod, "Yes, yes they should."

Then Master pulled away, and Francis dropped his arms from his frail shoulders. "We should get you some water. Perhaps put you to bed.", he says as he bends over to slip an arm behind Francis' back. "Come on then, sit up you lazy tosser.", he orders and Francis grunts as he shuffles into a sitting position, with Master's help.

By the time Francis is standing, Master is becoming irritated and his patience thins as Francis doesn't put much effort into using his legs. "Damnit, Francis.", he growls, "Use your legs, that's what they're meant for." Francis hums into Master's neck and then straightens his posture, which relieves some of the weight. Although he drags his feet a little bit as they leave the sitting room, Arthur plans to return to tend to the wine glasses and his book. For now, he guides Francis up the staircase slowly, and then stops inside the grand bedroom. Francis falls to the canopy bed with a groan and bounces slightly on the king bed, before falling lifeless basically, not bothering to bring his legs in. Arthur looks down at him with a frown, before briskly turning to deal with the mess they left in the sitting room.

He had given the empty wine bottle to one of the maids to deal with, and then set the wine glasses on the granite counter in the kitchen. With his book, he simply bookmarked it and returned it to it's place in the miniature library in the sitting room. He only gave the marked up couch a glance before striding out the door.

He isn't surprised to find Francis still sprawled out on the bed. Approaching the useless Frenchman on the bed, he grabs the leash and gives it three sharp tugs. Disgruntled, Francis mumbles and jerks his head up, his eyes heavily blinking as he focuses on his Master. "Stand.", Master demands.

Doing as he's told, Francis takes a while to fulfill that simple demand. Once he's got a hold on one of those...what are those things? Francis forgets but he grabs onto the thing sticking up from the frame of the bed, and hoists himself up. He hasn't really been working out, so his arms seem more like noodles now more than ever. He stumbles, and Master demeans himself enough to hurry to his side to support him, curling a warm arm around his midsection. Francis hums and turns towards Master, and obnoxiously leans in for a kiss.

"Alright then.", Master says with discomfort, and leans away from Francis' wine-stinking breath. Francis lightly scowls at his denial, but doesn't whine like he would if he were sober. He chuckles instead as Master commands him to remain leaning against that _thing _sticking up from the bed, and begins to hastily unbutton Francis' sleek waistcoat. Once he's dealt with slipping it off Francis' torso (with much difficulty thanks to the Frenchman), he folds it like the neat freak he is, and sets it on a nearby armchair for the maids to deal with later. The button up dress shirt follows.

When Master kneels to work on his belt, Francis gazes down at him with glassy eyes. "Master, you look good on your knees.", he slurs, and gives a lopsided smirk when Master gives him a glare, looking up at him. "Well, you won't see it again so soon.", Master grumbles, his hands yanking at his belt to _get it undone_. Then he unbuttons his slacks and hooks his fingers around the waistband, slinking the article of clothing down to reveal Francis' silk, dark violet underwear.

Master snorts. Francis did tend to insist on selecting his undergarments, but Master always is amused by his choice. Was this supposed to be seductive? Perhaps, because Master can easily see the lazy slope of his shaft through the thin fabric. Swallowing heavily, Master pulls at the laces to his dress shoes, and then tugs at Francis' ankles so he would lift his damn feet. Francis sways as he lifts each individually. After pulling off his shoes, the pants follow.

"You surely aren't too drunk to dress yourself. You're making me do this, you idiot.", Master complains under his breath as he stands. Francis grins at him as Master looks away, moving towards his dresser to shuffle around to find his pyjamas. Returning with the set, Master sighs, and hands him the clothing. "Dress yourself, I need to change as well.", he tiredly says. He patiently waits for Francis to process this, and once the pyjamas are taken, Master turns to approach his own dresser this time, withdrawing his own pair of pyjamas, a matching forest green button up top and bottom.

When he returns from the adjoined bathroom (he wanted _some _time from the drunk Frenchman) dressed in his dark pyjamas, the sleeves wide on his slender arms, he finds Francis sitting on the carpet, his back against the bed, eyes closed. His deep blue pyjamas are on, at least.

Maybe not correctly, Master thinks with a lack of amusement when he approaches to find Francis' top buttoned wrongly. Francis doesn't open his eyes upon his approach. Clearing his throat, Master nudges Francis' thigh with his foot, and does earn his red-shot eyes. Francis' hand moves over to rest his long fingers over Master's foot, giving a weak smile.

"You're cute in your pyjamas.", Francis comments with a grin. Master frowns. Then he leans over to hook his hands under Francis' arms, attempting to lift him like a child. "Shut up and get in bed, you oaf.", he grunts as he supports Francis at his feeble attempts to stand. Francis falls back onto the bed with an 'oof'.

He doesn't move from his sprawled out position, and Master is about to explode. Francis does sense he's about to get his face punched in, so he attempts to scoot back to his side of the bed. He does, but brings the comforter with him, disheveling the nicely set covers. Master huffs, and decides that will have to do. He's too tired to make a big deal out of everything.

Francis remains silent, and his eyelids must have grown heavy, because he doesn't watch Master as he slips onto the bed, pulling at the comforter and the blankets underneath. Francis lifts his hips, and Master yanks the blankets back to order. Somewhat. It takes a moment for him to help Francis under the covers as well.

Soon enough, Francis is cuddled obnoxiously up to Master. His head is nestled in Master's neck, his arms wound tightly around the Brit's midsection, a leg drawn over his Master's. Master heaves a sigh. Then he nudges Francis' arm and leg away to slip out from under the covers. Francis looks up at him tiredly, confusion across his features.

"Water.", Master explains. He almost forgot, and if he had, Francis would have a much more intense hangover in the morning. So he quietly exits the room, leaving Francis in the bundle of blankets on their canopy bed. Francis closes his eyes and lets out a huff, before grabbing the comforter and nuzzling into it. Master will return soon enough.

Surely, Master returns only a moment later (or did Francis fall asleep briefly?) with a glass of water. Francis doesn't acknowledge him until a hand pats at his cheeks. He grumbles and opens his tired eyes to look at him with a furrowed brow. "Come on, sit up then. I want you to drink two glasses before we sleep.", Master orders, perching himself on the bed with his legs over the side, turned towards the sleepy Frenchman.

Francis has to gain his balance on his arms in a slow manner, before lifting his eyes to Master. He frowns, "_Two_? I'll wet the bed. Or is that your intention?" Master arches a brow, as he scoots closer to raise the glass, "Surely, you could tame your bladder. If you were to, there would be consequences. You must be aware." When he places the rim of the glass to Francis' bottom lip, Francis secures his lips around the glass. Master curls a hand around his messy locks, cradling his head as he slowly tips the glass.

Master was only doing this because he wanted to. Francis has the ability to drink it himself, but Master enjoyed demeaning him, treating him like an infant. Francis didn't mind, really.

He drank the first one down enthusiastically, gulping down mouthfuls, but when Master left to re-fill the glass, he felt dubious for the second. He frowned upon Master returning with a filled glass of water. "Isn't one fine?", he complains, and is tempted to fall back on the bed to sleep, but by Master's warning glare, he decides he should comply.

He drinks this one with more hesitation and difficulty. He can tell Master is becoming irritated and he smiles around the rim of the glass. Eventually, he takes the last drink and Master sighs as he stands to temporarily set the glass in their bathroom. Francis hears his feet against the linoleum, and then shortly the carpet, as he moves about.

By then, Francis had fallen back to the plush pillows, his hands up on either side of his head, his face turned to where Master was currently easing back into his place. The covers moved over him when Master adjusted under them. Francis opened an eye to peek at him. Master was watching.

"Water will solve the majority of your hangover in the morning, Francis.", he simply says, before turning on his side, his back to his pet. Francis watches him for a moment, before he scoots up to his back, and slinks an arm around his slim waist. He spoons him then, and earns an elbow to the gut in response.

He grunts but doesn't move away, only curls in slightly from the pain. Master shifts restlessly in his embrace for a moment, grumbling, before settling with an exhale. Francis nuzzles his nose into his messy hair, inhaling his floral shampoo. "Stop it.", Master growls, nudging him with his elbow. Francis slips his legs between his, and Master makes a noise of complaint.

"You're warm.", Francis yawns, and cuddles closer to him, smoothing his hand over Master's clothed chest. Master doesn't respond. For a long moment it's silent, and Francis feels victorious. Although, he is genuinely surprised when a hand softly slides over his, which rested on Master's chest. Fingers curl through his, locking them together. It's warm, and it feels nice. Francis smiles against the back of Arthur's neck. Arthur doesn't speak.

* * *

**End of part 1**

mina1914 . tumblr . com


	2. Carelessness

In the morning, Francis awakes to a bed for himself. He rubs tiredly at his eyes with the heels of his hands, and glances around the room, in search of Master. No obtrusive eyebrows anywhere. Francis glances to the wooden clock on the nightstand, its pendulum swinging back and forth. The maids do tend to let him sleep in recently. It was 10:36, so Master must be at work then.

Yawning, Francis curls his arms above his head, stretching the muscles in his back and straining his arms to shake away the dormant state he's been in. Following the stretch, he peels away the thick comforter and slips from the bed, his soft pyjama bottoms slipping down his legs. Standing at the side of the canopy bed, he bends over to touch his toes, rolls his neck and twists his torso side to side.

After his shower, he intended to begin his morning work out, so he paced to the adjoining bathroom. If his collar wasn't locked by a small padlock, he would have taken it off, but alas, Master held the key. At least he had removed the leash. Once removing his pyjamas, he stepped into the spray of warm water, his hair darkening a shade as it flattened with the liquid. A light pulsing headache originated in his head, but it wasn't intolerable.

He indulged and took a long shower, but stepped out before the maids could take notice. He wrapped a towel around his waist after rubbing the water from his skin, leaving the steamy bathroom in search of clothing. Master was insistent in him constantly wearing fine clothing (not that he particularly disliked it, he was a man of taste after all), so wearing his old ballet sweat pants and a simple grey t-shirt was a reprieve from the pampering. He did his sets of push ups and curl ups on the soft carpet of their bedroom.

After his morning routines, he had changed into a pair of grey slacks and a red wine button up, with a matching grey waistcoat. He didn't bother putting on shoes. Master would be displeased, but he couldn't when he would not be aware. Why would be even be punished for not wearing shoes in his own home? So he paces out of the bedroom, in search of the kitchen to prepare himself some breakfast. Or, perhaps, lunch. It was almost twelve.

Finding himself descending the grand staircase, he spotted the head maid closing the large front doors. A creak emitting from a step, the noise gained her attention. Her long black hair was swept up into a bun.

"Ah, master Bonnefoy.", she greeted, smoothing out her pencil skirt, her plain white apron tightened around her waist. Her blouse had ruffles along the collar and at the cuffs of the sleeves. "I do believe Master Kirkland requested of you remaining in the grand bedroom. You do know to call us if you needed something.", she said with a knowing sigh. Francis smiled at her.

"As lovely as it sounds for you ladies to serve me, I'm afraid I'm more the adventurous type. Couldn't remain in the confines of the bedroom, apparently.", he mused as he approached her, his socked feet quiet on the hardwood. She didn't look amused. "Is there a particular reason you left?", she questioned, her heels tapping as she began towards the double doors leading to the dining room. It seemed like she already knew.

Francis attempted to recall her name. Master addressed her by her first name, but Francis seemed to have forgotten it. He knew it was some sort of English sounding name. She has been the head maid for quite a while. Although, Francis had known her for only about a month or two.

"I haven't had breakfast yet."

She hums knowingly, and opens one of the doors to the dining room, turning to face Francis. She motioned inside, and he obeyed, walking past her into the alluring dining room. The chandelier was sparking like many crystals in the sun. He could name each painting lining the walls. The presently nameless maid walked past him, simply ordering him to stay while she prepared something for him. He took a seat at the head of the table. It felt odd. This is where Master always sat...and really, he hasn't properly sat in a chair in a while. It was a nice reprieve for his pride and knees.

Within ten minutes, she returned with a plate of steaming food. He gave her a sweet smile as she announced the name of the fine looking dish.

* * *

Francis had occupied his time by exploring the large manor, which he has done before, but it was to pass the time, really. When he found himself in Master's Alcohol Room, he was dissatisfied to find barely any wine. Mostly strong liquors. He hadn't stayed there long.

He went on Master's iPad (which was lacking a password, surprisingly), to mess around on the Internet, and was amused to find the only game being chess. He lost interest in it quickly, and proceeded to repeatedly turn it over and over in his hands, staring blankly at the painting across from him where he was perched on the bed. It was of a vase of flowers. Of course. Master had a tender adoration for flowers. Glancing at the clock on the night stand, he was delighted to find Master was to return from work in about an hour and a half. He sighed, and then returned to staring at the painting, but discarded the electronic to his side.

With his hands folded on his clothed belly, he wondered what Master was doing right now. He wondered if he had thought about his pet at all during work. Perhaps not, he seemed to have a side of him that was primarily focused on work, disregarding any personal thoughts or daydreams. Francis knew Master's focused expression. Imagining it made him smile a little.

He missed Master. He was bored without him. It was entertaining to annoy him, to see him become irritated. He would get so worked up over the littlest things. One time, Francis recalls, he had hidden from Master just to mess with him. Apparently the maids' quarters had a sitting room which was barely visited. He had been lounging on one of the couches, waiting for the imminent discovery of the household pet, when Master burst in the room with a flushed, angered face. He was panting as if he had ran through the house looking for him.

Francis had laughed at seeing him so disgruntled, but his little game had resulted in a very regrettable punishment.

Now that he thought back on how Master reacted, he wondered if Master was honestly worried. Francis decided he wouldn't pull another stunt like that again. Not that he would ever consider it again, the punishment he received wasn't pleasant. But if Master had gotten worried...

Francis raised a hand to softly nibble at his thumb nail, closing his eyes. The concept of Master worrying over him was somewhat a flattering thought.

When Francis dropped his hand and opened his eyes, he sat up, propping up on his elbow, idly glancing around the bedroom. Hints of his Master filled the room. His books were stacked on the small table by the door, his treasured pen resting atop a stack of papers. A vase of flowers sat on Master's dresser, no doubt being tended to by the Englishman.

It's been a while since Master touched him. A long time since he last expressed anything tender, or loving. The way Master stroked his hair during the garden meal wasn't enough. An extended period since a punishment, other than a poke by a fork. Even Francis enjoyed the punishments, because Master gave him attention. He chuckled to himself. He really was like a pet, desiring his Master's acceptance and undivided attention.

Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, he realized he wanted to be touched again, by Master. He felt silly, becoming aroused just from thinking about it. Master was much more indulging when they first began this whole thing. Francis slipped out from the bed, and quietly approached Master's dresser. Lowering to his knees, he reached out to pull open a drawer.

It was his trouser drawer. Closing it, he opened the second to find his dark green pyjamas folded neatly inside. He wore it only last night. Did he wash it since then? Francis withdrew the top to find out. With slight hesitation, he lifted the folded article of clothing to his face, and inhaled deeply through his nose.

It didn't smell like his laundry detergent. Francis laughed quietly to himself. He felt embarrassed that he was becoming turned on from such a thing. He clutched the fabric tightly in his hands, and stared down at it, his hair framing his face as he worried at his bottom lip. How much time did he have?

Shaking his head to himself, he returned the clothing to the drawer beside the bottom piece, and eased the drawer shut. Sighing, he stood and returned to the bed. He returned to his lounging position against the headboard. Although, he was more restless. He debated how to act with this arousal. Master would be displeased if he figured out. The maids wouldn't know.

Weighing the possibly outcomes, Francis turned on his side, to where Master slept the previous night. Its a rare occurrence when Master lets him share the bed with him. Francis has to usually sleep at the foot of the bed.

Francis wishes he wouldn't have been intoxicated. He wonders if Master would ever let them share a bed without a cause. If he had to be drunk to share with Master, then he would drink more often. He palmed the made up covers of where he had slept. Francis was given the gift of curling up next to him, to hold him. Master had held his hand..right? Francis wasn't sure at the time if it had been his imagination or not.

Well, then. Francis definitely could feel the steady warmth in his gut become more intense. He knew that the covers hadn't been replaced or washed yet. He leaned over to pull open the covers, and pulled the comforter closer, clutching it to his chest. Blushing slightly, Francis dipped his head low to inhale the scent of Arthur.

Sighing, Francis reached down to undo his slacks. Master wouldn't know. He reached into his sleek underwear to grab his heated arousal. He softly inhaled Master's smell as he palmed himself. God, this is bad. Francis' worry of being caught didn't match his desire. When he had become fully erect, he removed his pants and underwear. Slipping under the blankets, he moved onto Master's side.

Master had suddenly become celibate. It's been about three weeks since Master's latest punishment. If he could recall correctly, Master had used a paddle on him. Francis was flogged as well. Attempting to recall the purpose, Francis thinks it may have been because he had orgasmed before Master permitted him to. And _that _occurrence was the last time they had sex. He remembers that Master rode him. Imagining Master's flushed face, his dilated eyes, looking down at him with an agape mouth. His arms and legs straining as he moved himself. Throwing his head back as he felt that intense warmth, the coiling in him snap as he was brought to his climax. And being the unfair man he is, ordered Francis to withstand his orgasm. Then he followed up by delicately fingering the Frenchman, his fingers gentle like feathers as they rubbed his prostate. Sadly, Francis hadn't lasted long.

Francis bit on his tongue to keep quiet, fearful of nearby maids. His fingers toyed with his pink cock head, touching the sensitive glands as his other hand's fingers stroked over his entrance as he recalled Master's fingers entering him. He exhaled shakily when he thought about before the master/pet play began.

Arthur. Arthur was snotty and demanding when he wasn't compliant. Francis knew how to strip him of his pride, and his attitude. Francis' favorite activity was to bind Arthur, and then torture him with multiple orgasms. He enjoyed the way Arthur grew desperate, and begged to be released, as if he was going to be kept that way for the rest of his time.

He longed for the past. Now, Master never fulfilled his desires. It was as if Master was punishing him without actually performing his punishments. Skidding away from those negative thoughts, Francis returned to the time he spanked Arthur. He delightfully remembered how the thin, fragile man shook and cried, draped over Francis' thighs with his flushed bottom displayed for his pleasure.

Recalling their previous activities brought Francis to a quiet orgasm. He was in the right mind to carefully capture his ejaculation in his palm, keeping the evidence from the covers. He panted into the comforter, shakily inhaling Master's scent before he lifted himself from the bed to clean himself up in the bathroom.

He was taking a quick, hot bath when he heard the distant sound of the door to the bedroom opening and closing. His heart leapt in his chest, and he felt his stomach twist up in nervous dread. How long had he remained in the bath? He sat up in the water, the liquid quietly sloshing as he moved. The noise of shifting and movement emitted from the other side of the bathroom door. Then silence followed.

Francis began to panic a little bit, but he composed himself and insisted if he were to be caught, then maybe Master would give him attention. It would be alright. He wasn't even sure if it _was _Master, or just a maid. He hoped it was neither, but that wouldn't be likely. A persistent knock on the bathroom door ripped him from his thoughts. He jumped in the bath, some of the water escaping the confinement of the bathtub. Definitely not one of the maids.

"Francis!", he heard his name barked. Master returned from work, then. He shook slightly as he quietly reached over to pull the drain out. The water began to lower as he silently sat there for a moment. Another few knocks came.

"Francis, I want you to come out here.", Master softly spoke through the door. Fuck, Francis thought as he shakily stood from the water. Rivulets snaked down his limbs as he stepped out. That tone usually came with consequences. His hands shook as he grabbed a towel. He briefly wiped away the traveling water before securing the towel around his waist. Master would be too impatient for him to get dressed again. Francis didn't usually re-dress in the bathroom, but he would prefer doing it now.

Master seems to have heard him get out, because he wasn't knocking or making a fuss anymore. Francis gathered his clothing in his arms, and felt his stomach twist with dread as he unlocked the door, before pulling it open. His hair dripped, and he could feel water slip down his back. Swallowing heavily, he instantly met eyes with Master. His face was flushed and he looked displeased. Okay, maybe that was a mild adjective to use.

"What have you done?", Master demands, reaching past him to hastily turn off the light in the bathroom. Francis doesn't respond, and boldly paces around him to set his ruffled clothing on the bed. He could feel the waves of anger emit from Master. A hand grabs his wrist and turns him around.

He keeps his eyes trained on Master's shiny dress shoes, and remains quiet. He doesn't want to show his desire and weakness to Master, how he had disobeyed him. "Well?", is growled in front of him, and he lifts his gaze to Master's. His bottle green irises are penetrating, and he feels his rebellion crumble.

"I..touched myself.", he says and feels humiliated. Francis gives a light laugh at how this is so peculiar. The steam blowing from Master's ears sizzles to a stop. At least, Francis pictures this as Master's facial features soften. Although, he still looks disappointed.

"Did I permit you to?", Master asks gently, keeping his grip on Francis' wrist. His eyes never leave Francis' face. Francis doesn't allow himself to shy away, to entirely submit. He doesn't drop his eyes either. He shook his head sharply with a light frown. "No.", he answers. Master looks thoughtful for a long moment, as if debating what to do next. He lets his wrist go, and lifts his hand up to Francis' hair. Francis is mildly startled to find Master sorting his fingers through his long locks. At least, attempting to. It's all messy from the bath.

Giving up, Master lifts his hand away and sighs. "Sit on the floor, against the bed.", Master commands sternly. Francis glances over his shoulder to the bed, and then seeing as he was already at the side of it, he sits down on the carpet with his towel remaining around his waist. Leaning against the side, he raises his deep blue eyes to Master, and sees him gaze down at him with squinting eyes, before turning to stride to the dressers lined on the west wall of the bedroom. Francis doesn't bother looking over his shoulder towards him, only hears a small clatter and then Master's footsteps as he returns.

The bed protests and the covers rustle as Master takes a seat on it. Francis keeps his eyes forward as Master scoots closer to where he's positioned against the bed, and then lowers his legs on either side of Francis. Slightly confused to what he's doing, Francis doesn't anticipate when he feels pressure on his head. He cranes his head back to look up at Master. He has a brush in his hand. Oh, Francis thinks and then drops his head again.

Fingers caress the sides of his head momentarily, angling his head, before the brush begins to travel through his locks. It catches on a few tangles, but Master is gentle with sorting them out. Silence continues as Master brushes through his hair, sorting it out. As Master is working on a knot, he speaks once more.

"Can you tell me why?"

His tone of voice is neutral, only hinted with curiosity. Francis wonders if Master would become upset if he said no. Francis doesn't respond for a moment. He thinks that it's kind of ironic, humorous, how he was previously thinking of this man in their past doings, getting off on it, and now he's getting his hair brushed by him. A light smirk slips over his lips.

"Thinking about you turned me on.", he answers truthfully with amusement in his voice. He notices how the brush stopped for a moment, and Master sighs. Francis smiles over at his bare feet, and wonders what kind of face he's making.

"Don't be ridiculous.", Master huffs, and Francis gives a light shrug. He feels a bit of annoyance from Master's ignorance, but doesn't show it. "Would it be so ridiculous, seeing as you have refrained from granting me any sort of sexual gratification in a while?" Master seems to continue brushing his hair, even though its no longer tangled. Francis thought it to be relaxing. "Neglecting is a form of abuse, you know.", Francis jokes, and earns a light smack to the crown of his head by Master's free hand.

"I have intentions, Francis. I'm teaching you patience, the ability to withdraw yourself from sex once and a while. But it seems you can't even handle such a simple thing.", Master explains with irritation lacing his words, ending with a sharp exhale. Francis frowns. Master stops brushing his hair, and then pats his shoulders, motioning him to stand. So, Francis eases himself onto his feet, and turns to face Master, who has remained sitting, looking at him with sharp eyes.

He sets the brush to his side, and then stands before the Frenchman with a soft expression. Master rests his hands over Francis' forearms, and Francis feels comforted by the touch. "I'm afraid this will have to result in punishment.", Master says with regret, and furrows his brow. Francis feels his heart beat quicken in excitement. He keeps his expression blank as he begins to wonder what kind of punishment it would be.

Ones with gags and whips and binding he wouldn't mind as much. Isolation are the ones he very much disliked.

"It will begin tomorrow, I suppose.", Master muses, and paces past Francis to grab the curled up leash from the small table by the door. Francis turns to him and sarcastically pouts as Master approaches to clip the leash to his collar. Francis raises his chin for better access. Once it's fixed, Master says idly, "Oh, and get dressed, I intend to take you on a walk."

Francis smiles softly at him, and nods.

* * *

**End of Part 2**

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	3. Consequence

**Warning:** Caning, rough treatment, uh I suppose caging?

* * *

The following morning was the same as they always began. Francis awoke by the foot of the bed, curled under his blanket on his large (dog bed, really) cushion. He stretched out on the soft plushness of his bed, uncurling his legs, yawning as he did so. The metal of his collar jangled as he propped up on his elbows. Peeking over the wood frame of the master bed, he could make out Master's body shape, a slope of the comforter easing to fit his side. His mop of sand blonde hair was poking out. Francis smiled.

But, after all, he had to obey his Master's orders. So he lowered himself back to his cushion and settled in to wait for his Master to wake. He stared at the flower painting on the opposite wall, pondering the day. What would his punishment be? Master had been very vague about it before. No hint of what it was to be. Francis felt anxious. It has been so long since his last punishment, it might be even more brutal than the previous. He had been given many lashings for his last mischief.

Eventually, Francis finds his eyelids growing heavy, and he falls back into a lazy slumber.

He's startled to consciousness when he's nudged. He warily blinks and lifts his sleepy gaze to find Master's set expression. Francis gives a lazy smile, and slips his arm out from his blanket to sneak his fingers up the pant leg of Master's finely pressed slacks. Master all but jerks away and sternly says, "Up, time for your bath, and then we will have breakfast."

It seems Master has already gotten dressed for the day. Francis tiredly nods and sits up again from his cushion. Master paces away from him, into the adjoined bathroom, Francis' gaze following his back as he leaves him. Francis stands from his bed and stretches once more, and rubs at his eyes as he begins towards the bathroom as well.

Master was starting the bath when Francis shut the door behind him.

* * *

After Master had scrubbed (rather roughly, Francis had noted) Francis' skin with a foamy sponge and lathed his messy locks in a fine shampoo, Francis was ordered to step out, after washing it all off of course, which followed with Master hurriedly drying him off.

As always, Francis was aroused by the end of it. And, as per usual, Master ignored it.

With a towel secured around his waist, Francis was amused when Master had insisted on brushing his hair . Francis didn't particularly mind, but Master was being somewhat rougher today. He felt worried for his precious hair. Francis was perched on his calves on the bed, Master behind him, when he began to brush his hair. Thankfully, Master was being gentle this time.

"We will eat, Francis, and then we will read together. Perhaps I will walk you.", was what he had said. Francis nodded slightly, and Master hummed in satisfaction as he swept the brush through his wet locks. They remained that way for a bit, Francis took note of, when ten strokes became a hundred. Wasn't it said that it's mandatory to give a hundred brushes to your hair? To spread out the oil, Francis recalled, as Master continued his repetitive brush, pause, brush, pause.

Eventually, Master grew bored of grooming him, and ordered him to stand. Master dressed him in dark slacks, and accompanying was a light blue dress shirt (which complimented his eyes) with a matching dark waistcoat. Light pinstripes went down the fabrics of the pants and waistcoat. With his wavy golden hair now dried and resting on his shoulders, Francis felt smug with his appearance in the body mirror. Was Master purposefully trying to make him look better?

Oh wait, Francis always did.

* * *

At breakfast, Francis tugged at Master's pant leg every minute, to annoy him, and that earned glares pointed down at him. He laughed quietly to himself when Master noticed, with annoyance, his laces had been untied when he stood from his chair. Really, Francis thought to himself with amusement, he was only making his punishment that much more regretful, when it would come.

Yet, Master remained cool and composed for the remainder of the day. Well, excluding the times he would become fed up with his pet's mischief. When they were in the garden, and Master was walking him (Francis refused to be on all fours, and it took a while for Master to finally give up on attempting to make him go down) with the leash curled around his thin fingers, Francis had stopped to admire a bush of lilacs. That earned him many tugs of the leash, and a snap of, "Heel!" Francis found it mildly aggravating, and in retaliation, kept a hold on Master's sleeve for the remainder of the walk. He knew that incessant weight on his arm drove his Master up the walls. It earned him a smack on the cheek. And Master ever rarely became violent.

But now, they were seated in the sitting room, Francis curled at his Master's side, his fine outfit for the evening replaced with his light blue silk pyjamas. Francis was curious to why Master instructed him to replace his suit with it—they only changed into their sleep wear before they got into their beds. Francis felt skeptical, but the concern had drifted away from his thoughts as time passed, of him leaning against the bony frame of his Master. A hand had traveled up his curved back, and had settled on stroking through his locks.

Master was reading Shakespeare's poetry to him, and Francis had stopped attempting to make sense of it all after ten minutes or so. He became sleepy nonetheless. The dimmed lights and flickering fire was comforting. He ended up slipping further down, until his head met Master's slim thighs. He brought his legs and arms in, curling up and situating himself closer to the other. The hand continued to touch him, threading through his locks gently.

Throughout the relaxation though, Francis felt a faint tug at his worries occasionally. In the corner of this sitting room was the Kennel. Oh, Francis hated that thing. Of course it was positioned in the sitting room of all places, so if Master was especially cruel, he would invite guests over when Francis was being punished, leading them into the sitting room. He would be like an eye-catching art piece across from the entryway—coaxing praise and observation. And every time Master put him in it for a punishment, he was always lacking clothing, only his collar around his neck to give him modesty.

The ominous cage was within his view, and whenever his tired gaze wandered, he would feel dread whenever his eyes drifted across it's barred structure.

Suddenly, the murmur of a voice above him stopped. The soft sound of the book closing made Francis uneasy. It meant that this activity was ending, and another was soon to begin. The hand stroking through his soft hair slowed to a stop, resting over the nape of his neck. The snapping of the wood in the fireplace was soothing, and it earned Francis' attention in his moment of anxiety.

But soon, Master set the book aside, and exhaled audibly. "Francis.", was all he said, and then Francis felt a soft pressure against the crown of his head. He turned his head up, and saw Master looking down at him with his piercing emerald eyes. The fire illuminated them. Francis realized that Master kissed his head, and his heart clenched. He smiled up at him gently. He then turned over, away from the fire, and nuzzled into Master's abdomen.

Silence followed for a moment, and then Master moved his hand up Francis' shoulder. "Francis, I want you to remove your clothing.", was murmured above him, and Francis tensed up. He remained still, and then eased back from him, sitting up, and looked into his eyes, searching for an answer to this sudden demand. All he found was intensity and determination.

A knot formed in his stomach as he quietly slipped off the couch, away from the warmth and loveliness he had been experiencing, and began to work on the buttons to his pyjama top. Deftly, he undid each of the buttons, and slid off the article of clothing, before draping it over the arm rest. Master was watching him intently. Francis saw him cross his legs then, and rest his arm over the arm rest to his side. Francis swallowed heavily as he stepped out of his pyjama bottom, and, essentially, his underwear.

Standing before his Master with a bare body and a racing heart, Francis stared down at him, _waiting_. Master gave him a light perk of a smile, his fingers lightly tapping on the arm rest.

"I would like you to bend over the seat of the couch."

Obediently, Francis got on his knees, and rested his chest over the soft cushion, folding his arms in by his sides. He waited for Master to do something. Francis doubted this was going to be a pleasurable act. Then, Master eased from his seat after a moment of gazing over at him. Francis glanced over his shoulder to see him pacing around him, but that only earned a swift grip to his hair, the locks caught in a fist.

"Do not lift your gaze to me.", was hissed sharply into his ear. Francis trembled and turned his head back to face the fabric of the cushion. A moment later, his hair was released. Footsteps began behind him. Francis closed his eyes. The noise of a soft clatter; most likely something being lifted. Francis sighed when the footsteps returned. The punishment was beginning, then.

"I will give you five strokes of the cane, to begin with. Am I understood? You will remain still, you remain silent, and you will not lift your gaze from that couch."

Shakily, Francis exhaled as he nodded with quick jerks of his head. He loathed canings. He preferred lashings. Master must be aware, because Francis found gratification from the lashings. Francis felt his muscles ache from being wound up tight, tense with dread and anticipation for what was to come. When a hand smoothed over the muscles in his back, willing away the tensity, Francis flinched under the sudden touch. He melted under the warmth of the caress, and willed himself to let go. Let go of the dread, the worry.

It didn't really work. He stilled cried out when the first sharp, stinging swat met his backside, and like that, his back was coiled tight once more. Abruptly, a sharp pressure was pressing into the back of his neck, forcing his face into the cushion. Fingers tightened around. "Close your filthy mouth.", Master snapped, "That earns you one more stroke." Francis trembled and he lightly dug his nails into the cushion. He didn't respond, only twitched when the pressure around his neck was jerked away suddenly. He kept his face in the cushion, his body tense as he waited, in fear. A footfall sounded behind him, the stress of clothing, before the air whistled and a sharp snap of pain soared through his skin over his backside. Francis jerked forward over the couch.

He grit his teeth, and gave a hushed whimper. Master seems to not have heard.

Four more, Francis chanted in his racing mind, and until the next crack met his skin, the repetitive words in his mind were wiped away, only replaced with the never-ending pain, the aching, the burning of his skin. He gripped the cushion tightly, and panted into it, fighting to keep his cries within himself. Master gave him a moment, letting him relax his curled back, release his tensed buttocks.

The next stroke that landed over the back of his thighs made Francis arch off his knees, his back rising slightly before he crumpled back onto his shins, trembling. The skin over his backside _burned _and it grounded him, and he focused so intensely on the aching pain that the following strike of the cane only made him jump, and make a strangle noise in the back of his throat. Francis felt how his eyes began to wet, and it made him feel disgust with himself. Even if he constantly did, he felt repulsed that he could shed tears from something as trivial as this. Then again, pain was a very acceptable reason.

The final crack across his reddened backside made him make a high noise in the back of his throat, and then he melted into the cushion, a wave of relief washing over him-_it was finally over_. He sobbed quietly into the cushion, and his grip on it released, his hands limp. He felt humiliated.

Francis remained draped on the couch for a long moment, as Master moved about. Francis heard a quiet clatter, a drawer being opened, and then footsteps. Slowly propping up on his elbows, Francis gazed down at the cushion. Two wet spots stared back up at him. He kept his head down as he listened to the shifting of clothing, and the pop of a cap.

A shiver traveled through his body as a cold, wet sensation met his stinging backside. He sighed thankfully, and his shoulders grew heavy. Master's hand moved over the red flesh, spreading the cream over the welts gently, gingerly. The crackling of the fire was apparent to Francis once more. He listened to it deeply as Master finished with caring to him. The closing of the cap signaled the ending of this miniature punishment.

"I would like you to stand, and remain on your feet by the couch as I go and fetch something for you.", Master spoke softly behind him. Francis nodded. "You may look where you please, now, and you may speak as you wish.", was the last thing Master said, before he quietly paced out of the sitting room, Francis barely catching his figure over his shoulder, before it disappeared behind the doorway.

Inhaling a deep breath, Francis slowly eased his weight onto his shaky legs, and sucked in a breath through his teeth as he felt the skin over his backside protest to the movement. He sighed and straightened his posture, and moved to stand beside the arm rest. He was beginning to wonder if what he had done was worth it. This was how it goes, though. You think that there isn't a _chance _for them to find out, to discover what you've done. But then you aren't cautious enough, and it leads to much worse things.

Francis rolls his eyes. This is what Master wanted. For him to regret it, to think it over. Typical.

Then Master strides back into the sitting room with—oh no. Francis wants to speak his complaint, but no doubt it would result in much more unpleasant things. What Master holds, is a chastity cage. A cage shaped to accommodate that of a flaccid penis, which is to prevent an erection. Not to mention the unpleasant weight of the thing, it's made of metal after all. Francis knew what connection the chastity cage held, to his punishment. It was total control, that Master was striving towards.

Francis curses mentally as Master approaches. A stern and pleased expression adorns Master's soft complexion. Francis feels agitated by it. He's being smug, damn it. When Master eases down into a crouching position, Francis sighs audibly, dramatically. He places a hand on the couch's arm rest as Master unlocks the padlock on the metal cage, before he loosened the opening. The metal is cold on the soft skin of Francis' penis, making the Frenchman suck in a breath through his teeth as Master slips it gently over his shaft. There is a small opening in the tip of the cage. Its only use being for urination. Master adjusts the tightness of the cage, before he worked on getting Francis' balls through the two rings. Once its all in correct order (Francis whines mentally that those rings are pinching rather harshly), Master makes it official by securing the padlock with a quiet click.

"Now, let's see how long you can last with this on.", Master muses with a tease in his voice as he stands, his lips curled into an amused smirk, his eyes fixed on Francis' dark colored eyes. Francis drops his gaze to Master's polished shoes, and remains silent. He watches as one of Master's slender hands raises to slip his leash across his palm, lightly holding it as he watched his pet with his piercing eyes.

A thoughtful hum emits from Master. "I don't think I like you at my level, Francis. You should be put in your place. Kneel.", Master calmly says, his fingers letting the leash drop. Keeping his head low, Francis obeys by lowering down onto his knees. He sits on his calves, lining his hands flatly on his thighs. He keeps his gaze trained on Master's shoes.

"Good boy.", is purred above him, and a gentle hand strokes over the crown of his head, moving over his soft golden locks. For a long moment, Francis remains kneeling before his Master, the hand petting his hair repeatedly stroking over his head. Then its gone, and instead his leash is grabbed. "I believe its time for your nap.", Master announces as he gives a tug to the leash. Francis doesn't move, and remains sitting there. He raises his pleading gaze to Master. He didn't want to be put in a position like this. Master was glaring now, looking back at his pet with a frown.

"Would you like another caning?", he softly asks, but his expression betrays his tender voice. Francis shakes his head hurriedly. His backside and thighs are still stinging from it. He then hesitates as he moves onto all fours. He doesn't move at first, staring at the carpet with a flushed expression, feeling humiliated, but when his leash is tugged again, he paces quietly across the carpet. The fibers of it rubs against his knees as he makes his way around the couch, following Master.

Francis feels his heart constrict when he notices they're approaching the Kennel. He puts a halt on his knees, digging them in the carpet and pushing at the floor with his hands. It makes Master stop, his hand fastened onto the leash. Master looks at him with a furrowed brow, impatiently looking at him. "Come", he growls, tugging on the leash harshly. Francis shakes his head and tugs back by pulling his head away. Master huffs and approaches him. He crouches down to look him deeply in the eyes.

"I am growing tired of your disobedience.", he sighs lightly. Francis feels intimidated by Master's stare, and drops his gaze to Master's knees. Then fingers curl between the leather of his collar and his neck. The straining of Master's clothing sounds as he stands. Francis has no option but to follow as he's all but dragged to the Kennel. He makes a noise in the back of his throat when Master pulls him brutally to the closed door of the Kennel. It's rows of bars were soon to be his prison. He has to will himself to remain seated as Master hastily opens the door. It creaks when it swings open.

When Master tugs on his collar, Francis hesitates. Something hard and unforgiving digs into his lower back, and it pushes until Francis relents and crawls with a whine into the confines of the large cage, no doubt meant for a Great Dane or English Mastiff. Francis has to hunch his back a little so his head doesn't dig into the bars above him. His backside howls with agony with him sitting on it, but he desperately ignores it. If he were to move onto his side or front, he would be shown as weak. The door shuts with a quiet clang, and Francis closes his eyes tightly when Master locks it with angry, loud movements.

Francis opens his eyes to calmly gaze at up at Master through the bars. A pleased smile had replaced his scowling lips. "I will see you in the morning.", Master says, and looks down at him for a long moment, no doubt admiring how he had reduced this pompous man to his rightful place as his pet. Then he turns to leave the sitting room. Francis is urged to call to him, to tell him how unreasonable he's being, but that would just add fuel to the fire.

He watches the back of his Master, to the last moment as the door clicks quietly shut behind him. Then Francis is alone, the soft crackling of the dying fire the only noise he can hear. He remains staring at the door for a minute, until he sighs, and leans against the thin bars of the Kennel. It digs into his bare skin. He looks at the interior of the cage. Its basically the same as it has always been. A large cushion fills out the bottom, with a folded, small blanket resting atop it. An unnecessary chew toy in the corner. Usually, Master would put a plug in him, with a tail attached to it. But not this time, it seems.

Francis grows uncomfortable with the bars digging relentlessly into the muscle of his shoulder blades, and the pressure on the welts to his backside. So he lays down onto the plush cushion, curling his limbs in and settling his chin on his folded arms. The tight and heavy feeling encasing his penis is annoying. He's startled when the sound of the door opening fills the room. Glancing over from the Kennel, he sees a simple maid approaching the weakening fire. Francis realizes she's just putting it out, and loses interest.

He listens to the sound of water pouring, and the desperate hissing of the burning logs. He turns onto his side to face the back of the Kennel. In case she was curious and looked over, she would only she his boring back. Well, and his welt-covered backside. He huffed and curled in on himself tighter. Eventually, the maid stops poking at the logs and leaves, her soft footsteps trailing out the door. The door is shut quietly after her.

Francis doesn't move for a long while. He feels miserable and alone, and the stupid cage on his cock is really pissing him off. When he starts to shiver, he sighs, and brings his limbs in closer in an attempt to gain warmth. But then he remembers the blanket. Propping up on an elbow, he reaches out to grab the folded blanket and pulls it over himself. It isn't that thick, but it should capture his heat better than nothing. He curls it around himself tightly, and burrows into the cushion.

It should be late, right? They had dinner before moving to the sitting room to rest, which was around 19:00. He's tired enough, anyways. Master wouldn't want him to stay up too late—just grumbling in his thoughts all night. So, Francis attempts to clear his head and think about things that would lull him into unconsciousness.

Admittedly, those things would be Arthur. He thinks back on their memories previous to popularity in human pets, before those more unfortunate people were sent to auctions and raffles. When they were just a simple, _equal _couple, sharing Master's too-large home. Sharing memories, and admittedly, arguments that didn't result in a punishment for him.

He doesn't entirely regret the decision they decided upon. Francis had accepted being the pet in the relationship. Arthur's reputation was important to his family and to himself, and if he didn't have a beautiful, charming human pet in his possession, he would be seen as an outsider.

Thinking about their walks in the nearby parks brought Francis to a peaceful sleep, with a soft smile on his lips.

* * *

End of Part 3

**A/N: **Yay finally a little bit of explanation. I'm not entirely sure where this will go, I just wanted to write some pet play because boy, do I love me some pet play.

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	4. Confinement

**Warning:** humiliation

* * *

A soft sound was heard in the back of his mind. It repeated, but in a much more attention-grabbing volume. His dream-like state became more distorted, and his lucidness sharpened as he gained slow consciousness.

"-please awaken", he heard spoken to his side. Francis mumbled and shifted on the cushion, curling in on himself a little tighter. Hopefully, whoever was trying to disrupt his beauty sleep would feel discouraged and leave. He deeply exhaled and then began to drift away.

"Master Bonnefoy, your breakfast!"

The harshness in the tone startled him to attention. He raised his head, and saw only the lined bars and the wall past it. He blearily blinked, the light of the room sudden to his eyes, as he slowly propped up on his elbows. With a single hand he rubs at his eyes and then eases onto his other side to face the front of the Kennel. He blinks rapidly at the blaring light, and gazes up at the head maid. He still didn't remember her name. Her glasses are perched on her pointy nose, her dark honey eyes staring down at him.

"Master Kirkland wants me to stay until you finish your meal, so you do not disobey him.", she stated, leaning away from the confining bars of the cage. Francis ignored her and yawned loudly. What time was it? Couldn't he sleep a bit more? Maybe he could nap after breakfast. He rubbed at his tired eyes again. Once dropping his hand, he shifts on the small bed. His body sure was stiff from remaining in the same position for the majority of the night. If not curled in a ball, his limbs were pressing against the bars. Irritating. He wants to snuggle with Master again, in his ridiculously-large bed, with his amazingly-comfy blankets and plush pillows. But he always has to be sleeping on the floor.

The clanging of the Kennel's door being opened earned his attention once more. He flicks his gaze away from the maid's expressionless face, down to where two doggie bowls were positioned in front of the door. One was filled with water the other...with what he assumed to be a variety of breakfast foods.

Some scrambled eggs, sausage, some vegetables, spices, etc. Not very pet-esque, but Francis definitely was not complaining. He would rather have edible, human food than some dry kibble. Yet, he still was not used to demeaning himself to eat from doggie bowls, in front of others other than Master. It was embarrassing. And seeing as Master ordered the maid to stay and keep watch, he had no choice. He knows if he doesn't complete his breakfast, Master wouldn't be pleased.

So to get it over with, Francis kneels at the opening of the Kennel and reaches towards the bowls. A small chuckle comes from the maid leaning against the back of the couch. He raises his gaze to her and cocks a brow curiously.

"That is not how you eat from a dog bowl.", she muses. Francis glares at her, and she smiles innocently at him. Ignoring her, he reaches in to remove a sausage with his fingers. It was a little oily. It smelled heavenly, though. "Master Kirkland will not be pleased.", the maid smoothly informs, her slender arms folded. She has manicured nails, the tips a dark magenta, which accented the white to her blouse. Francis, once again, flicks his eyes up to her amused expression. Her long black hair is braided this time, draped down her chest, the hair curled at the end where it was not braided.

Huffing audibly, Francis simply drops the sausage back to the bowl, and gives her a sarcastic jut of his lips and quirk of his brow. She continues to watch, but her smile is now replaced with a emotionless frown. Glancing back to the bowl, Francis stares down at the steaming bowl, and decides to neglect his embarrassment.

Leaning over, he places his hands flatly on the carpet on either side of the bowl and captures the sausage between his teeth. He sits back as he chews it, looking at her with a sarcastic smile. She doesn't respond, only remains standing by the couch, waiting for him to finish. So he leans down to bite off some of the delicate scrambled eggs. Its light in his mouth, so he quickly chews and swallows before he bends over again to capture another bite, his hair draping over the sides of the bowl as he does so, shielding his face.

Once done with the eggs, he takes a moment to suck some of the water into his mouth. He definitely is not going to lap with his tongue. That would be pointless. Some of the water drips down his face once he sits back. He couldn't really have proper table manners in such a situation.

Then he moves onto consuming the steamed broccoli and carrots. It was a simple breakfast, he thinks as he finishes with the last carrot. Once he takes another mouthful of water, he sits back onto his calves (it seems his backside isn't as painful as it was the night before but it still did ache), and motions to the bowls with a wave of his hand. The maid smiles lightly as she stands from the couch and approaches him. Some of the water remains, but she doesn't comment on it.

After she reaches down to pick them from the carpet, she says, "Master Kirkland will return from work in a few hours. He let you sleep in. I will return with your mid day meal shortly." Francis doesn't say anything in return. She looks down at him for a moment, and then sighs before she says, "Alright, back inside." Francis frowns, but obliges her, and turns to crawl back into it, feeling his ears grow hot with mild embarrassment. He doesn't turn to face her. She must have set the bowls down to lock the door once more, because the clicking of the lock lets Francis know he's confined once more.

When he hears the shift of cloth and then foot falls, he glances over his shoulder to watch her as she paces to the door. Drifting his gaze down her frame, he takes note on her white frilled blouse and knee-length pencil skirt. It was almost identical to the last outfit she wore, but the blouse is long-sleeved and the skirt is a dark navy blue instead of a black. Admittedly, he thought she was stunning.

The door shuts quietly behind her.

* * *

With a belly full of warm food, Francis had fallen into a peaceful nap swiftly, curled under the blanket once more. But he was woken only two hours later by the head maid unlocking his door noisily. She had arrived with lunch. It was in those two bowls once again. The meal consisted of a piece of French bread, strawberries, fine cheeses in small squares, various leaves of lettuce, and grapes. It seemed kind of random, but he had eaten recently so they were just small things. It was all appetizing nonetheless, and Francis wasn't as hesitant to eat with his mouth this time. She permitted him to hold the bread as he took bites.

Now, he was curled in his locked cage once more, the bowls and the maid gone. He faced the sitting room's interior, his deep blue eyes drifting over the furniture. He stared at the twirling, wine red colors of the couch for a long while, letting his mind wander. He wondered when he would be released from this. He was awfully bored, and he couldn't really fall asleep anymore. As per usual, he pictured Arthur in his thoughts, and their past dates. He tried to remember them all in order, but he lost track around the thirtieth. Regarding romance, he did tend to remember everything but his mind was wandering to their more passionate exchanges.

When he was recalling the first time they made love, the sitting room's door swung open. Raising his distant eyes to the opening, he wonders what time it is. It must be around 17:30, because Master comes striding into the room, his eyes fixed onto his curled form in the cage as he approaches. Francis doesn't raise his chin from his folded forearms, only stares upwards towards Master's waistcoat. Then Master crouches down, his face lit up in excitement as he gazes at Francis.

"I hear you have been a good boy.", he says with a smile, his crooked teeth revealed behind his thin lips. Francis lazily cocks an eyebrow. Master hums and thoughtfully moves his eyes down Francis' bare body. Returning his stare to Francis', he says with a musing tone, "You must have to use the restroom."

Francis gives a shrug of disinterest. That's why he didn't drink so much water during his meals. Yet, he had felt an annoyance the past hour, but like a good pet he was, he held it, waiting for permission. Master withdraws a key from his trouser pocket and begins to unlock the door. Once setting the padlock on the carpet, he eases the door open with a creak.

"Come", Master says, opening his arms and beckoning with his hands. Francis exhales quietly as he shifts out of his position, slowly propping up onto his hands. He pops his neck by stretching it-it was stiff from staring into nothing for a while. Then he gazes warily at Master as he crawls out of the Kennel. He wonders if Master is going to do something unpleasant, but all the smaller man does is pull him into a light embrace.

Francis lets his eyelids flutter close and instantly turns his nose towards Master's neck. He inhales as he eases his arms weakly around Master's midsection. "I missed you, pet.", was softly spoken into his ear. Francis whined gently, feeling his heart constrict with adoration, and nuzzles closer to him. The thin arms around him slowly pull away, and Francis grabs onto him, not wanting the embrace to end. It's been so long.

All Master does is chuckle lightly and ease from his grip. "Now, now.", Master says as he stands, his hand now having a hold on his leash. Francis looks to the floor with a pout, and doesn't move when Master lightly pulls on the leash.

A moment of silence passes.

"Oh, Francis, come on.", Master says with exhaustion in his tone. Francis glares at the carpet before he obeys and follows after him. Once they reach the door, he stops then, realizing they were leaving the room. Master looks back at him with a gentle expression.

"It is alright, Francis. I will be by your side the entire time.", Master assures. Francis looks up at him with a hesitant expression. Master looks down at him with a furrowed brow. He sighs and then says gently, "It is normal for pets to be bare of clothing Francis. I have granted you the reprieve of clothing thus far. Respect me for that. We have done this before." Francis resists the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, they have. Francis very much remembers.

When Master tugs on his leash, Francis relents and slowly exits the room. In the hallway, he sits at Master's feet, gazing up at him. When Master begins towards the end of the hallway that leads to the grand staircase, Francis wildly wonders why they aren't heading to the bathroom two doors down. He has no choice but to follow as they emerge from the hallway.

Francis' feels a flood of embarrassment when they begin down the staircase. The head maid is by the front door, no doubt expecting this. Maybe Master instructed her to remain standing there. Why would he, though?

Wait, does this mean they're going outside?

A icy feeling shoots through Francis' stomach. As he had assumed, they pace up to the front double doors after descending the staircase. He panics in his mind as Master says something to the head maid. Francis seizes up when she opens the door with a delicacy to her movements. He can't go out like this!

Master is stopped when the leash grows taut in his grip. He glances back to see a fearful expression on Francis' face, his body unmoving at the entrance. The head maid looks down at him with an expressionless face. Master tsks and walks back to him.

"Francis, heel.", he snaps. Francis jolts and looks up at him with a pleading expression. Master disregards it, and gives a sharp tug to his leash. Francis drops his panicked eyes to Master's shoes and submits by crawling out the front door. He grits his teeth when his knees meet concrete. Ignoring the discomfort, he glances around as they begin down the side of the house, circling the building. No one is around, seeing as the manor was on the outskirts of the city-but the gardener is tending to the pansies to as they make their way into the garden.

The alternating from concrete to grass is a relief, but Francis barely processes it, his eyes locked on the gardener. He seems focused on his work, but glances up upon hearing the rustling of footsteps on the grass. Francis forces his gaze down to his hands as they continue. Suddenly they come to stop. He looks up frantically, and sees the gardener approaching.

Usually, Francis is fine with his nudity. Even if others than his lover would be gifted with the view of his body, he wouldn't care. He would glow in the stares. But being demeaned in such a position, for others to pity him or praise Master on such a well-trained pet makes him feel...gross. He curls in on himself slightly, when the gardener greets Master.

"Are the lilacs growing well?", Master asks the gardener with a calm tone. Francis flicks his gaze to and from the gardener. The gardener explains how they are growing perfectly, oh so perfectly, they will turn out beautifully, you'll love them. Francis' lip twitches in irritation. But then after gushing about it, the gardener flickers his gaze down to him. Francis' every muscle tenses and he instantly jerks his gaze down to the grass.

"I see you have been disciplining him well!", the gardener observes and Master chuckles. Francis' heart runs rampant and his palms grow sweaty and his stomach twists with discomfort. He feels sick and disgusted with himself. He doesn't want this.

"Yes, well, he did need to have a walk.", Master says before giving a light tug on the leash. It briefly earns Francis' jittery gaze. A soft smile is on Master's lips. "Come now, Francis.", he says, and then raises his eyes to the gardener's, before he says a goodbye, and they begin down the grass. Francis' limbs don't really cooperate with him, they tremble and shake, and he falls behind until the leash is tight and Master glances back at him, slowing to a stop. They're not that far from the gardener and his gaze.

"Can you hold it any longer? If not, go ahead Francis."

Francis shakes his head and wills himself to stop shaking. He gives a deep breath and roots himself down, forcing his limbs to stay still. He sits and looks up at his Master with a shaky expression. Master smiles gently, "You may go."

What if the gardener is watching? Does Master expect him to lift a damn leg and piss? That seems so utterly ridiculous and belittling. Francis refuses to do it. He stays still and drops his eyes to Master's shiny shoes. He can feel his heart pounding in his ribcage.

"Francis, I don't want you to dirty the carpet or your bed.", Master chides calmly, patiently. Francis shakes his head slightly, his long locks swinging in his vision. Master sighs aloud and then his voice is more impatient as he says, "Francis, _now_." Francis grinds his teeth. He doesn't want that fucking gardener watching him piss like a _dog_. A stinky, filthy animal.

"Obedience.", he whispers quietly, his light shaking beginning again. He feels a wave of irritation and indignation wash over him. He never wanted this. Master never put him in such a humiliating position before. Master has walked him around the mansion bare of clothing, but never outside, never forcing him to urinate outside. He trembles as Master demands, "What?" Francis lifts his angry gaze to him and growls with venom in his voice, "I said Obedience, _connard_!"

That makes Master's eyebrows shoot up. His face is of disbelief.

"You heard me. Now take me back inside.", Francis insists and drops his glare to the grass.

After a moment of stunned silence, Master quietly begins to walk across from where they came, his hand not so tightly gripping the leash now. Francis fumes as he stomps after his Master. But as they cross more grass, Francis' fury-pumped mind lessens and he realizes what he said to his Arthur. He feels guilty as they pass the gardener, neglecting him as they turn the corner of the large building.

Master does not speak to the head maid as they pass through the entrance to the house. He remains silent as they ascend the staircase- his shoes loud on the carpet, whereas Francis' hands and knees make no sound. The hallway holds one nurse passing by, and she barely flicks a gaze down to Francis, but it's fleeting. Francis doesn't mind as much since she's a woman (he feels more confident around women. Well, in this position anyways.), and his attention is focused on his Master who he may have upset by what he said.

Then they arrive in the privacy of their bedroom, and Francis pauses, realizing that Master didn't bring him back to the sitting room. He wonders if that was the end of his punishment. Maybe it was just a break. Master probably wants to talk about what happened. Yet, his Master doesn't say anything as he quietly turns on the lamp on the bedside table, casting a light and calming glow through the room, illuminating Master's figure. Then Master turns to pace up to him, crouching down to work on getting his leash off. Francis stares at his blank face, gazing into his downcast eyes to try and find anything that would represent offense.

Master pulls away too soon with leash in hand before Francis could. "Come", Master softly says as he takes a slow seat on the grand bed. Francis quietly paces up to him, and sits at his feet, gazing up at him with a concerned expression. Master smiles down at him softly, and reaches a hand over to cup Francis' jawline. Master rubs at his stubble with his fingers. Francis closes his eyes, and focuses on the touch of Master's gentle hand. The fingers on his jawline move to caress his cheek.

Then the touching ends, and Francis' opens his eyes. He watches warily as Master reaches down to hook his hands under Francis' biceps, and tries to lift him. Francis gains leverage on his legs and moves onto the bed. Its kind of haphazard because he ends up half in Master's lap and half on the bed. He almost laughs at how swiftly it became awkward.

He then realizes Master is embracing him rather tightly, his arms secured around him with his face hidden in his long locks. Silence remains. Francis returns the embrace with a warm hold, turning his face into Master's slender neck once more. He hugs him tightly, and he suddenly feels Master's body give small trembles.

"I'm sorry, Francis.", Master whispers. Francis suddenly realizes Master is the one who needs comforting. He hushes him and leans back a little to press a tender kiss to Master's jawline. Master sighs and then sits back, breaking the embrace. Francis feels disappointed it ended so soon. But Master is looking at him with a naked expression of guilt, his eyes filled with worry and apologies.

Francis looks into his dark alluring irises as he raises a hand to gently caress Master's cheek. The skin is so soft under his touch. He trails his fingers over his cheek, watching Master drop his eyes from his gaze as he lifts his hand to run his fingers through Master's short messy hair. Francis feels his chest swell so full with his love and adoration for him.

"I did not mean to curse at you, Arthur.", Francis murmurs, earning his lover's eyes again. Arthur gives a gentle smile. He laughs lightly, shaking his head, "I deserved it." Francis runs his hand gently down the back of Arthur's head, the soft short locks traveling through his fingers. He rest his hand on the back of his neck. Arthur's smile died down, his eyes fixed on Francis'

Francis leaned in, angling his head to press his lips delicately to Arthur's. Arthur is still when Francis softly kisses him, his warm hand continuing to rest over the back of his neck. Francis feels happy when Arthur lightly returns it, the soft thin lips under his pursing. But only a moment later Arthur breaks the embrace of lips by sitting back.

He has a stricken look on his face. Francis watches him as he sighs. "No, Francis.", he mumbles, and reaches up to gently pull Francis' hand away. Francis frowns, asking, "Why? Why can't I kiss the one I love? Why am I not permitted to touch you?" Arthur looks frustrated then, his eyes averted.

"Because you are my pet, Francis, I am the one who decides what happens."

"Then why is this your decision?"

Arthur glares at him then, and slips out from underneath Francis, his hands pushing on his biceps. Francis watches silently from the bed as Arthur paces away, his slender back to the Frenchman. "This isn't even of importance right now.", he murmurs as he slides his hands down his waistcoat, smoothing it out from the wrinkles their embrace caused. He turns to face Francis again.

"We should talk about what I've done wrong.", Arthur says with a calm voice, crossing his arms lightly, his hands resting over his biceps, his stern, darkly colored eyes fixed on Francis. With a sigh, Francis dramatically fell back onto the bed, his hair splaying out around his head like blood, as if he was shot between the eyes. He wishes it were true, at this current moment.

Francis stubbornly keeps his mouth closed as he gazes up at the blank ceiling, his ocean dark eyes roaming over the expanse. He can hear Arthur let out an impatient huff. "You were just pushing me.", Francis mumbles, turning his head to avert his gaze to Arthur, seeing him standing there with his brow furrowed. "It was ridiculous, Arthur. For a punishment, just walking me around naked in the manor is _fine_, but anyone could have seen me outside. Someone we know could have decided to show up unannounced, and see me in that position. Do you think I would have enjoyed that?"

He pauses, staring over at Arthur's thoughtful expression. Silence dragged on for a moment. Arthur turned away from him to face the vase of flowers on the small table by the door. "Fine. As you know, I already apologized for it. I won't involve any of your punishments beyond the front doors, if it will make you comfortable."

A gentle smile slipped over Francis' lips. He quietly stood from the bed with a creak, and paced over to Arthur. Arthur turned to face him, with a cautious expression adorning his face. Francis felt tempted to kiss him again, but instead lowered onto his knees, sitting back on his calves. He placed a gentle hand on Arthur's leg, curling his fingers around the back of it. "I forgive you", he whispers, and leans over to rest his forehead against him. Arthur didn't speak. Francis was startled to feel soft fingers rest on his head, lightly slipping in between his locks.

"Good boy.", was whispered above him, almost inaudible to him. Those gentle words made Francis' heart swell with adoration for his Master. He closed his eyes with a soft smile on his lips.

A moment later, Francis says, "I still need to pee."

* * *

**A/N: **Bluh, I really should be working on something else-which has a deadline, but I want to write more for this instead. I shouldn't enter anymore exchanges on Tumblr, haha. I always end up _forcing _myself to finish them, which isn't a good thing, because they turn out to be poop! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Translation:

_connard - _asshole, bastard, arse, git, etc

mina1914 . tumblr . com


	5. Composure

Perched in the sitting room, Master was sitting on the extravagant couch before the fire pit. The sunlight filters into the room through the open drapes of the window to his right, casting a light glow, the dust motes visible, dancing in the light. He felt content.

It was an uneventful Tuesday, the day Master has work off. Master was silently reading his novel in the light of the sun when Francis entered the room, bored with distracting the maids from cleaning the table from their lunch. Master barely cast Francis a glance when his pet sat at his feet. A long minute passed of Francis waiting for some sort of acknowledgment. But none came, only the soft sounds of the pages of his book turning.

Impatient, Francis turned around, facing the other to gaze up at him from the carpet. With a blank expression, Master didn't avert his gaze to him. Francis frowned, and stared at Master's thin fingers supporting the hard cover of his novel, before he grew bored of that. So he pulled himself onto the couch, and obnoxiously leaned into his Master's side. He stared at the pages to his book. Master made a noise of annoyance in the back of his throat, but continued to neglect the other.

Sighing, Francis realized it was another inappropriate book. He brought his gaze to Master, who stubbornly kept his eyes fixed on the lewd words. Francis leans into him, until Master is tilting to the side from his weight.

Finally, Master flicks his dark eyes to him. He looks annoyed, Francis muses with a light smile on his lips. With a furrow of his brow, Master returns his eyes to his book, and not-so-gently pushes Francis off his side. Francis huffs.

"Why are you reading such things, but you refuse to have sex with me?"

That makes Master's face flush a light pink. But he still ignores him, keeping his eyes off his pet. Francis leans against his side again. He stares at the words in his novel. After a long moment of silence, Francis slowly raises his hand to slip it across the page, where Master's eyes were drawn.

An irritated sigh emits from Master. "Francis.", Master warns, his brow furrowed. Francis hums, and draws back his hand as he dips his head in to press a sweet kiss to Master's cheek. Master sputters, and looks at him with a bewildered expression. "What are you doing?", he demands, his face a darker shade. Francis grins at him.

"I'm kissing you", he murmurs and leans over to press a few more swift kisses to Master's forehead and lips. Master pushes at his chest, dropping his book to the carpet, and turns his head away. "Francis", he hisses, and keeps him at an arm's length. Francis laughs with amusement, watching him fluster, a teeth-revealing smile on his lips.

"Idiot", Master grumbles, and wipes off his cheek with a hasty hand. He reaches for his book. Francis doesn't like the attention diverted, so he wraps his arms around Master's midsection, ruffling the fabric of his waistcoat as he pulls him close to his chest. Master makes a shocked noise and then glares at Francis as he pushes at his shoulders.

"Stop it, let me go!", he growls, and fights at Francis' embrace. Francis chuckles, and ducks his head in to press gentle kisses to Master's neck, keeping a secure hold on him. Master brings his legs in to apply pressure to Francis' lower abdomen, until Francis grunts and releases him. Master is panting when he sits back, his hair ruffled more than ever, his waistcoat and button up shirt half up his belly. Francis' amused eyes zero in on that revealed section of milk pale skin, and he soaks in the sight before Master notices, makes a noise of surprise, and yanks his shirt down with his face deepening a dark pink.

Francis purrs and moves closer, but Master kicks at him. "Damn it, Francis, I'm trying to bloody read!", he all but shouts as Francis' touchy hands reach for him. Francis laughs and grabs onto an ankle, effectively yanking the light man closer, earning a shocked shout. Francis continues to laugh with merry as Master struggles when he pulls him close into another embrace.

Finally, he feels amused during this boring day when Master groans in annoyance and admits defeat, growing lax in Francis' warm arms secured around him. "You're such a moron, I hate you", Master grumbles into Francis' shoulder. "Yes, yes", Francis says and then laughs lightly. Master sneaks his hands around Francis' sides, gently returning the hold.

The sunlight suddenly grows much stronger, more intense, and fills the room with a brighter light. Francis gazes down at Master's sandy blond hair, seeing how the sunlight falls across the locks, illuminating the color. Smiling softly, Francis slips a hand up to twirl a lock poking out, between his index and middle fingers.

Silence only comes from Master.

Instead of playing with the single lock, Francis begins to stroke his hand repeatedly over the back of Master's head, feeling the soft locks stroke back over his palm. Master doesn't fight anymore. He submits to Francis' embrace. The peaceful silence continues, Master's exhales being all that Francis hears.

But then the closed door behind them opens, and Master jolts out of his embrace so suddenly, it startles Francis. Master sits back onto the other side of the couch and straightens his shirt and his hair, before he looks expectantly towards the door. Sighing, Francis looks over his shoulder to see the head maid standing there, her hand resting over the doorknob, with her face blank.

"Master Kirkland, Mr. Zwingli to see you. He said it regarded the contract."

Her eyes flickered over to Francis, and stared at him for a long moment. "Yes, alright.", Master says hurriedly, his face flushed as he stands and smooths out his waistcoat. The maid raises her eyes from Francis, gave a small bow, and then left. Master watched her leave, and then sighed before he dropped his gaze to Francis.

"Make yourself look presentable.", he orders with a light frown on his lips. Francis gives a reluctant nod and stands from the couch as well. Master looks him over as Francis straightens his clothing, and fixes his hair.

"I expect you to be on your best behavior.", Master informs him, and Francis only smiles gently at him. That makes Master scowl in return. Beaming with amusement, Francis grins, and Master turns to angrily stride to the door. Francis follows behind as he brushes back his long, golden locks with a relaxed manner.

Once in the hallway, Master calms down, for his impression no doubt, and paces with control towards the grand staircase. Francis walks after him, but slowly, because he lets his gaze wander to the paintings lining the hallway walls. Master is far when he returns his attention. He hurries after him. Francis adjusts his collar and waistcoat as they exit the hallway.

When they make their way down the staircase, Francis notices a tall, intense looking man standing tall by the front door. A petite looking, precious thing is at his feet. Its a girl. Not even a woman, it seems. She looks like she's in her mid teen years.

Francis watches her silently, expressionlessly, as they descend the last of the staircase. Her head is lowered, eyes fixed on the mahogany hardwood floor. Her small hands are flat on her skirt. A submissive, respectful pose. Francis feels sympathy for her.

"Ah, Mr. Zwingli.", Master calls, his voice attention-grabbing, filling the quiet of the room. They approach the pair with tapping footsteps. Francis keeps his eyes trained on the girl. She didn't even react to Master's protruding voice.

"What is this?", he hears Mr. Zwingli demand in a stern tone. Francis finally catches the girl's head slightly move. She begins to raise her gaze to her suddenly irritated master, but she knows better and adjusts her gaze back to the floor. Francis smiles.

"Pardon?", Master inquires with confusion, stops before his guest. Francis remains by his side, his hands respectfully behind his back, eyes drawn down. He knew that some people did not like when pets looked where they wished, and he was assuming this gentleman was one of those people.

"Why is he to our level? Don't you discipline him?"

That earns Francis' dark ocean eyes, raising to eye the man. Up close, he can see the way his piercing eyes are glaring at him with such disbelief. His mouth turns downwards once he notices Francis flickering his gaze to him. Instantly, Francis lowers his eyes again. He feels a tug of annoyance deep in his mind, but brushes it under the rug. He waits for Master's response.

"This is how I treat him. Just because he belongs to me, does not mean I will demean him in such a way.", Master answers with an added sternness to his tone. Unrelenting. That doesn't convince Mr. Grumpy pants.

"How do you expect me to exchange with you when you act as if he is equal to us?", Mr. Zwingli demands. Francis fears for his petite pet behind doors. Does he hurt her? Francis doesn't even know her name (_or what she even looks like_) but he feels repulsed by the thought of it. Why does she have to be so young?

Master gives a quiet sigh, and then hums thoughtfully. "I suppose we are in a predicament then. If you insist, I believe we could keep our pets beyond our meeting." Francis averts his gaze from the man's pet, to Master. Master glances to him. "Would you be willing to wait outside the door?", he calmly asks. Francis arches a brow at him with a light smirk. _You think I have a choice? _

He simply nods.

"Then we may leave our pets out of the meeting. The maids could keep an eye on them.", Master offers. Mr. Zwingli remains thoughtfully silent. He regards his small pet, gazing down at her. After a long moment, she senses eyes on her, and shyly raise her light hazel eyes to him. Francis smiles gently. She is very cute. Thin fragile lips, a elegant small nose, and bright eyes. The ribbon in her hair accents the flush in her cheeks.

"Lili. Would you feel comfortable waiting outside with Kirkland's pet?", Mr. Zwingli gently asks, the harsh tone in his voice replaced with that of tenderness. Francis is stunned, his assumption totally wrong. No, he would not harm her. He would protect her. Francis' heart clenches with...-he doesn't know. Longing? Jealousy?

He watches intently as Lili nods meekly, and then lowers her gaze to the floor. Francis wants to see Mr. Zwingli's expression, if it is no longer mean, but understanding and loving. Yet the glare it earned last time convinces Francis not to raise his eyes.

"It is settled, then. Let us gather in the sitting room.", Master promptly says. Francis is startled from his deep thoughts when a hand meets his lower back. He raises his eyes to Master, and notices how his eyes are fixed on Mr. Zwingli. But the hand on his lower back remains.

Mr. Zwingli nods with hesitation, and Master begins towards the sitting room to the right of the front entrance, his footsteps loud on the hardwood flooring. The hand on his back guides Francis with him. Francis hears Lili stand up by the ruffling of her pale magenta dress, and then the hushed voice of Mr. Zwingli. He feels the urge to glance back, but resists it.

Master drops his hand from his back, and pulls open the double doors to the sitting room, revealing the interior. Francis glances at the dark wine red colored couches, and then to the long sheet that remains draped over the Kennel in the corner, before his attention is averted by Master speaking his name.

"You will remain by the doors, and Johanna will be nearby to watch over you two.", Master swiftly says, and Francis has to pause to process what has been said. Johanna? Who was that? Master moves into the sitting room before Francis could ask.

Looking over, Francis watches silently as Mr. Zwingli says something into Lili's ear, which makes the girl shyly smile. Then Mr. Zwingli passes him without even acknowledging him again. He shuts the doors behind him, just as Master says, "I'm assuming you've brought the papers?"

Then it is silent, save for the click of high heels across the hardwood floor. That earns Francis' attention. Oh, its the head maid. She's wearing women's suit pants today. Black with grey pinstripes. Her shirt was designed to be loose. The sleeves drooped from her arms, and the fabric around her midsection ruffled as she walked.

Finally, Francis realized that _she_ was Johanna. So that was her name. Which he didn't entirely care to remember.

Master did say she would keep an eye on them. She merely stands by the front entrance, her manicured hands folded in front of her. Francis notices how Lili looks anxiously towards Johanna. Sighing, Francis leans against the double doors behind him, and crosses his arms. He can hear muffled talking, but he can't pick any words out. He wonders how long they'll take.

Its silent in the lobby, with Johanna by the door, and Lili just standing a few feet away from him, her delicate hands resting over the front of her skirt. Lili's eyes are downcast. Francis watches her. A long moment passes, before she silently approaches the doors as well, her short heels clicking on the hardwood. Francis doesn't avert his eyes from her, and watches as she turns her back to the doors, and eases down onto her shins, folding her legs all lady-like underneath her. Lili rests her hands over her folded legs. Her hands sink slightly into the fabric of her dress. She was sitting only about two or three feet from Francis.

He remained standing. He continued to look at her though, curious to why she was being submissive when her master wasn't around. She didn't _have _to sit like that. Maybe she preferred to.

Francis blinks when she lifts her soft eyes to him. He smiles gently towards her. Instantly, her face flushes and she jerks her gaze back to her lap. He chuckles quietly, and sees how that makes her face tint a little bit pinker. Then, the silence returns. Flickering his gaze to Johanna, he sees her watching him, her face expressionless. He quirks a brow at her, and she smiles, almost unnoticeable. Then he returns his gaze to Lili. This was odd. It felt awkward to keep it silent.

"My name is Francis.", he breaks the silence, looking down at Lili. He can tell that she tenses up. But then she briefly raises her gaze to him. Its fleeting, though. She drops her eyes to her hands again.

"And you're Lili?", he speaks again. Lili doesn't say anything, and doesn't look up either. She remains silent, and still. He hums, "So, Lili, you do know you don't have to sit like that everywhere. Your master is not present, yes?"

"Don't encourage her to disobey, Francis.", he hears called. Raising his gaze from the girl, he sees Johanna watching them. She's frowning. Francis gives a shrug of his shoulders, and smirks, "She seems unaffected by my '_encouragement'_." Johanna doesn't respond, her frown deepening. Francis feels he won that brief dispute, so he returns his eyes to the girl on the ground.

"You are very young. I wonder how you became your master's pet. Were you in an auction? You are too pretty to be in a raffle.", he muses aloud, and smiles when he notices her blush. She exhales quietly, and meekly lifts her soft eyes to him.

"You are very obnoxious for a pet.", she finally speaks, but it is quiet. Francis raises his brow, and then chuckles. He can tell that she's fighting not to smile. Uncrossing his arms, he glances to Johanna, seeing her watching with a disapproving frown. Ignoring it, he crouches down to Lili's level. She seems unaffected by his movement.

"And you are a very respectful one.", he replies gently, and that makes her smile lightly. Her eyes have become bolder now. She doesn't drop her brightly colored eyes from him. Francis moves from crouching, to leaning against the doors, his knees drawn up. He sets his forearms on his knees, folding them over each other.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but she beats him.

"I have known master previous to the popularity in human pets.", Lili quietly says, no doubt trying to conceal her voice from her master. Francis briefly wonders if he would punish her for speaking. What controls his thoughts now, was the surprise. So they were like him and Master?

"Were you...in love?", he asks quietly, his eyes trained on her. She smiles, and lowers her gaze to the floor, "I suppose." A moment of silence passes, and Francis is piqued with curiosity. He wants to ask, but again, she speaks before he could.

"He is my step-brother."

Francis' eyebrows raise. Lili's gentle eyes raise to his expression, her lips in a light smile. "Silly, right?", she softly asks, and her eyes move down Francis' figure. "Do you think it is disgusting? It is not entirely incestuous. We are not related by blood.", Lili says with a quiet voice, returning her gaze to his. He lowers his eyebrows and gives a light smile.

"Love is love."

This time, her thin eyebrows raise slightly. Then her lips grow to a brighter smile. "I believe so.", she agrees with a tender tone in her voice. Then Francis hears muffled footsteps begin behind them, and the voices grow stronger.

"Thank you for visiting me, Mr. Zwingli.", he hears Master say, close to the door. Francis leans away from the door and stands, straightening his waistcoat as he steps aside, eyes drifting to the doors. Lili drops her gaze from Francis, and lowers her head. One of the doors is opened, and Mr. Zwingli strides out. He stops when he notices Lili sitting in front of the unopened door. His stern expression softens.

"I assure you this will work out.", Master insists as he steps out as well. The gentleness in Mr. Zwingli's expression is gone. He raises his piercing eyes to Master's. "Indeed.", he agrees, and then returns his gaze to Lili.

"Lili, come.", he says, and she instantly obeys by getting onto her feet silently. She flattens out the front of her dress with smooth strokes of her hands. Mr. Zwingli begins towards the front entrance after bidding Master farewell, and Lili takes the opportunity to move her gaze to Francis. She smiles, and gives a shy wave with her delicate fingers. Francis smiles in return, and gives a brief wave in return, and then she hurries after her master. She lowers her head and keeps it down as she walks behind her master. Not entirely by his side. Not entirely equal.

Johanna opens the front entrance for them, and they leave the manor with quick steps. Francis looks after Lili's slender back, until Johanna closes the door once more. Instantly, he hears Master sigh deeply.

"He can be tiring sometimes.", Master says as he approaches Francis. With a smirk, Francis gazes at Master's tired expression. "Are you gossiping, Master?", he asks with a tease in his tone. Master frowns at him, and waves a hand dismissively as he walks past him towards the staircase, "Shut it."

Francis grins and begins up the steps as well, catching up to Master, to walk with him, side by side.

* * *

End of Part 5

**A/N:** The beginning of the chapter was basically meant to quench my thirst for some cuddles! Hehehe. Also, I may have included two more OTPs of mine, haha. I think FraLiech is the cutest thing. I believe the next chapter will be more interesting? Thanks for stickin' around!

mina1914 . tumblr . com


	6. Clemency

Three hours had passed since Master had left for work, leaving Francis with the boring day in the typical mansion. Now, Francis was laying on Master's bed, atop the plush, floral patterned comforter, his legs crossed. He held his favorite novel in his hands, his eyes drifting side to side as he read the words he's read many times before.

It was silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the turning of the pages. Francis was growing rather bored of reading. It's been about an hour since he sat back with it. It was tedious around here without Master. Sighing, Francis forced himself to finish the page he was on, before he shut the book with a harsh snap. He began to twirl the book in his hands, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression adorning his face.

Then the door suddenly emitted quiet knocks. Francis averted his gaze to it, wondering who was bothering him. Well, it was sure to be more entertaining than his book. So he stood from the bed with a soft creak, and approached the closed door. Drawing it open, he was greeted by the face of Johanna. Her long black hair was swept into a bun once more. Francis quirked a brow at her curiously.

"Your mid day meal is waiting for you in the dining room.", she explains her visit, and steps to the side of the doorway. Francis pauses, and eyes her, before he paced out of the room past her, and she shut the door behind him. Their footsteps are quiet on the carpet of the hallway as Francis begins towards the grand staircase, Johanna following behind.

"You usually don't come to get me.", he comments as they make their way down the stairs, his hand lightly trailing on the banister. He hears only a pause of silence from her, and then she laughs softly. "Perhaps a change of pace is a good thing.", she says smoothly.

He smirks.

She pulls open the doors to the dining room with elegant movement, and motions Francis inside. He enters the room, glancing in to see a steaming plate of food resting on the fine wood of the dining room table. It smelled marvelous. Francis took a deep inhale as he pulled his seat out. Oh, he did miss to cook. It was a hobby of his, but he rarely had the opportunity to use the kitchen. He missed the times when he would prepare meals for just Arthur and himself.

Thinking back on those shared meals, he smiles as he takes a seat. Glancing over, he sees Johanna position herself against the wall, folding her hands in front of her skirt. Her manicured nails are gone, he notices. She painted them a deep purple instead. Flickering his eyes up to her's, he notices she's watching him.

He returns his attention back to the steaming meal and lifts the utensils with a grace.

As he eats, its almost awkwardly silent. He wonders why Johanna remains by the wall. Usually she leaves when he consumes the meal, only to return to take care of the dishes. Yet, he notices that she just watches him silently as he eats.

Its very odd. He brushes it off, and focuses on finishing his meal. It was of a small noodle pasta, with a piece of French bread accompanying it. And there was a smaller bowl of various fruits to the side. Once he finishes the salad, he picks at the fruit bowl, but leaves the pineapple. Why do they still insist to include pineapple? He always leaves it behind. Soon enough, he eats the last strawberry. Setting down his fork, he stands from the table, and thanks Johanna briefly, before he turns to leave.

"Master Bonnefoy.", he hears spoken abruptly behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he raises a brow. He sees a blank look on Johanna's face. Although, her hands are fidgeting very slightly in front of her skirt. "Isn't it awfully boring being in your room all the time without master Kirkland?", she says, her voice tweaked with...uncertainty?

Francis pauses, scrutinizes her expression, and then gives a smile. "It is, but like you said previously, he prefers me to remain there.", Francis replies before he leaves the dining room with amused, curious thoughts drifting through his mind.

That was rather odd. Johanna usually ignored him. And that was the first time, really, she's ever tried 'small talk' with him. Or whatever that was. A smirk remains on his lips as he ascends the staircase, the soft sounds of dishes clinking following him.

* * *

The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the roof and the panels of the windows was a noise that Francis had grown used to, dwelling in Master's manor for the past few years. He listened to the soft, comforting noise as he silently paced down the staircase. The maids have gone to bed by now. The lights of the lobby were dimmed to a tender light. Francis' soft footsteps was drowned out by the incessant pounding of the rain.

Reaching the cold hardwood floor of the lobby, Francis remains standing by the staircase, his hand remaining on the banister. He can hear laughter and conversation drifting from the sitting room. Francis' dark navy blue eyes were downcast to his bare feet, his long locks shielding his face from either side. Sighing, he quietly left the staircase, approaching the slightly ajar doors to the sitting room.

Light flickered from the opening, and once Francis glanced in, he could see it was the lit fireplace that cast the flicks of light. It was a cold night, so lighting a fire would be understandable. Francis looks to where Master and Mr. Braginski are perched. Master had claimed the couch across from the fireplace, with it's bright flames illuminating his facial features, and Mr. Braginski was resting in the armchair to his side, a glass resting in his hand. There was an open wine bottle resting on the coffee table. Master was smiling, revealing his crooked teeth. Francis knew it was hard to elicit a smile as such. He, was after all, self-conscious about his teeth.

Silently, Francis watched as the smile died on Master's face, and then he took a drink from his wine glass. It was somewhat difficult to hear what Mr. Braginski said, but it resulted in Master to smile gently, his eyes falling from the man's face.

Master had been late to bed, so Francis was concerned, and left in search of him. At least he knows that Master was enjoying his evening. Francis gives a light smile, feeling foolish, and turns to leave without a word. When he decides to, Master will return.

When he returns to their bedroom, Francis quietly shuts the door behind him, and then turns to look at the bed. His mind wanders to the time before when he was permitted to share it with Arthur. He could hold a warm, precious thing to him and fall asleep with him close. Kiss him in the morning. It was very cliché, but Francis did appreciate it, at the time. He approaches the foot of the bed, and lowers himself onto his cushion, and curls up, pulling his blanket back over him. He remains staring at the dresser across from him for a long few minutes, before his eyelids grow heavy, and he realizes it will be a while before Master comes to bed.

He lets his eyelids fall.

* * *

"You're oddly quiet today, Francis.", Master comments, his fingers stroking over his pet's long, soft locks. Perched on a bench in the nearby park, Master's dark emerald eyes were drifting across the grass field of the park, briefly watching the pets and their masters enjoy the rare day of sunshine, in the dreary season of fall. Some were walking around, others laying on blankets atop the grass, or like them, sitting on a bench and enjoying the nature around them.

Francis, perched at Master's feet on the dry grass, gave a light shrug, his eyes staring at the rustling leaves on the trees spread around them. "Do I always have to entertain you?", Francis asks with no emotion in his tone, shifting on his shins and sighing lightly. He's getting his trousers messy. Master doesn't reply for a long while, but the stroking to his fingers slow.

"Do you want attention?", Master continues, curling his fingers around Francis' jawline. Francis' mouth drops to a frown, and he leans away from the touch. He was irritated, not attention-seeking. He's has been, though, for a long while, yet Master ignores it. So why even bother anymore? Master makes a soft tsk when Francis moves from his fingers.

"What is it? If you don't tell me, I don't know how I can make it better."

Master is starting to sound impatient. Fine, Francis crossly thinks, its no different than usual. He remains stubbornly silent. He wants to just leave Master, to walk away, but no, hes a good pet. That would be disobeying. Francis progressively becomes more agitated. He knew he was being childish.

The collar around his neck budges a little bit. A few more tugs follow when he doesn't comply. Rolling his eyes lightly, Francis turns his head up towards his Master. Gazing up at him, his eyes move across Master's lovely eyes, his thin lips, and his messy hair. Francis hates how he feels the urge to kiss him. Its a useless desire.

"Speak to me, Francis.", Master murmurs, searching in Francis' alluring blue eyes for an answer. Francis flushes in the face a little bit, and drops his eyes to the leash wrapped tightly around Master's fingers. He doesn't entirely know what he's so upset about, either. He just misses Master-Arthur. Hes tired of being neglected, turned away. Sometimes, it was tiring. He knows Master must have some sort of deeper intent with disregarding Francis' desires. Master always knows what hes doing.

Maybe Francis was being spontaneous, but perhaps saying how he felt would brush away the more sour feelings-the ones he did not want to feel towards his Master.

"I love you", he whispers with misery in his tone, and the words make him feel a surge of loneliness. Turning towards Master, Francis rests his head on his knee, and places his hands gently around one of his calves. Silence emits from Master. It hurts Francis.

"Francis..did I do something wrong? Why are you acting this way?", Master softly asks after a long moment, and Francis feels a gentle hand rest atop his head. Without replying, Francis sighs and pulls away. When he raises his eyes to him, Francis only sees confusion in his eyes. Sometimes, Master was very obtuse and oblivious. Francis smiles lightly.

"Can we go home?", he asks. Master watches him with scrutinizing eyes, before he gives a nod, and stands, leash still curled around his hand. Francis keeps his eyes fixed on the bright grass as he stands. As he follows beside Master, he notices that there are grass stains on his pants.

* * *

Dark, ominous clouds littered the sky, shielding it's bright blue color to the world below. The darkness cast a gloom down on the city. Francis sits at the window of the sitting room. He had pulled up the blood red arm chair by the fire place, and grabbed a wine bottle from the cellar, as well as a wine glass from the kitchen. The half-empty bottle now sat on the wide window sill, it's cork sitting beside it.

With his navy blue eyes staring aimlessly at the threatening clouds, Francis raised his glass to his lips, taking his next drink, of many. He must have refilled his glass four times by now. He didn't care. It was a pleasant taste, so why not indulge?

A blanket of fuzziness was slowly forming in his mind. He had a little trouble focusing on his thoughts. Mostly, he was miserably thinking of how bored and dissatisfied he was. Master was at work currently, _again_, so what other way to entertain himself than to drink?

It looks like, by the clouds, it will rain during the night. Perhaps Francis could rebel, and leave the house to go on a walk before the clouds release their attack on them. He knows where Master's cigarettes are kept. He only smoked a few times a week. Master was so unfair sometimes. Master knew he was an addict. And right now, a cigarette sounds goddamn good.

Sighing, he downs the rest of his wine. Maybe he was drinking too much wine for it to be considered healthy. He rests his hand on the windowsill, lounging messily in his chair with his leg thrown over the armrest, and twirls the glass by it's stemin his fingers. If he had turned on the light to the sitting room, no doubt it would reflect off the glass. But he relies on the dim light emitting from outside, and it does nothing to the glass. His thoughts are wandering again.

Before he can get back on track to what he was deeply thinking about before the wine effected him, the door is opened. He lolls his head to the side, glancing at the clock resting on the mantle of the fire place. Hours before Master returned. A maid then.

"I believe I should confiscate the bottle now."

He gives a disinterested hum. "Perhaps.", Francis says and sets the wine glass delicately down on the windowsill. Johanna paces up to his lax form in the arm chair. Flickering his glassy eyes to her, he lets his gaze fall across her choice of apparel. A tight, dark violet dress. He gives a light chuckle, and raises his gaze to her face. Her lips are pursed thoughtfully, her thin eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Are you alright, master Bonnefoy?", she asks in a somewhat gentle tone (it sounded odd coming from her), crossing her arms, her delicate hands resting on her exposed biceps. Francis hums, and looks away, to the coaxing bottle of his wine. "Not until I get to smoke.", he mumbles, and then gives her a lopsided grin. She frowns.

"I suppose you wish to be alone. I will return eventually, to see how you are. Try to refrain from drowning yourself in alcohol.", Johanna says with a stern tone that replaced the gentleness. Francis watches her turn and leave. Why did she even check on him? He was an adult, he doesn't need to be watched.

He feels irritated again.

Although, he had grown sluggish and tired from the many glasses of wine. There was one more glass of wine left in the bottle, but instead of sacrificing movement for the last glass, he pulls himself to the couch across from the fire place. Once he falls onto the cushions, he folds his limbs closer to himself, resting his hands in front of his face. He stares tiredly at the dark red fabric. He remembers all those nights ago, when he had seen how happy Master was with Mr. Braginski. He flings those saddening thoughts away instantly, and lets his eyelids fall. How childish of him.

A few hours pass before he awakens. Francis had moved onto his back in his sleep, one of his arms falling off the couch, the other resting across his belly. A mild headache is already present as he slowly sits up. Grumbling, he rubs at his eyes with his hands and then sighs as he drops them.

Glancing down, he sees a peach-colored blanket draped over his body. It didn't entirely cover him, though. His legs stuck out from the soft color. He mentally groans when he realizes his clothing will be all wrinkled now. Once he recovers from his drunken nap, he glances to the clock on the mantle. Its two hours before Master returns. Master would never return early, unless he was basically on his way to his death bed, so there was no chance it was he who comforted Francis with the gesture.

It must have been one of the maids. He smiles softly. They were too kind to him. He moves to stand from the couch. Groaning, he cups his forehead-too much movement. He grabs onto the armchair of the couch and steadies himself. Once he's sure he can make it, he approaches where the arm chair was, by the window. Its when he reaches the windowsill, when he realizes the bottle and glass are missing. Sighing, he falls into the arm chair, arms draped down on either side of it. At least he won't have to deal with the trek to the kitchen. He isn't as disoriented though. The nap really helped.

He remains in the arm chair for a few long minutes, head resting back into the chair with his eyes closed. He debates what he should do for the next two hours. Maybe if he wanders around the manor, he'll find something to distract himself with. So, Francis hoists himself up with a quiet grunt and begins towards the closed doors of the sitting room.

When he draws them open, he pauses, and casts a glance over his shoulder to the peach-colored blanket crumpled in a heap on the couch. Hesitating, he looks at it for a long while. Then he turns and approaches the couch. Gently, he lifts the blanket and begins to fold it. When its in a folded square, he gives a light smile, and drapes it over the back of the couch. He gives it a pat before he turns to leave the sitting room, closing the doors quietly behind him.

In the lobby, its empty. The maids have nothing to attend to at the moment, so they must be enjoying their own time. He remains leaning against the doors of the sitting room, staring ahead at the double doors to the dining room. A replica painting from the _Almond Blossoms_ series is propped on the wall beside the dark doors. The soft colors of the blossoms are charming, mixing well with the soft sepia shade of the wallpaper.

The doors to the dining room are drawn open. He silently stands from the doors behind him, and paces towards them, his bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor. Inside the dining room, he sees the long dining table, with it's many chairs. A glass of water sits atop it. Curious, Francis enters the dining room. He flickers his gaze around, wondering why there was a random glass of water on the table.

When the door to the adjoining kitchen is opened, Francis starts. Johanna emerges, and her eyebrows raise slightly upon noticing Francis. Instantly, Francis flattens his messy hair, and straightens his waistcoat. She smiles softly.

"You have awoken. For your hangover later in the day—the water.", she says, and motions to the glass. Francis pauses, and then laughs lightly, reminded of the day weeks ago where he shared sleep with Master. He doesn't know why he laughs, but it is rather ironic. He smiles at her when she makes a look of confusion.

"Thank you.", he says, and approaches the table to take hold of the glass. "I'm assuming you're the one who draped the blanket on me?", Francis muses as he takes a drink of the water. Its cool, so she must have put it out recently. The expression upon Johanna's face clears to one of blankness. She gives a nod of her head. "Yes, it was a rather chilly day. Its going to rain any moment, now.", Johanna murmurs, her dark eyes are trained on him, watching him as he drinks the water down.

Francis doesn't comment, only raises his eyes to hers. He scrutinizes her expression, her eyes. She's like a blank book. Why was she being randomly kind to him? He drops his gaze from her, and walks past her to enter the kitchen. He approaches the sink, and rinses the glass out. After wiping it down, he sets it in the appropriate cupboard. When he turns, he sees Johanna standing at the doorway with her eyes downcast to the tile of the kitchen.

"Johanna, was there something you wanted of me?", he asks as he steps closer to her. She raises her dark eyes to his. Francis gives a light, offering smile, cocking an eyebrow. With a purse of her lips, she shakes her head slightly. "If that's so, please excuse me.", Francis says lightly, and she steps to the side, and Francis walks out into the dining room again.

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness.", he calls, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He catches a light smile on her lips. And with that, he leaves the dining room, and begins towards the grand staircase. Francis wonders why Johanna bothered with it at all. He brushes it aside for now. As of currently, he will just wait in the bedroom until Master returns. Sighing deeply, he begins to ascend the staircase.

It was when Francis was looking at Master's bookmarks on his iPad when he heard the distant sound of conversation and noisy footsteps. Panicking a little, Francis hurries to close the tabs he had open, and turns it off, before he scrambles off the bed as the footsteps become louder. He delicately positions the iPad on Master's desk where it last was, before he moves to his cushion at the foot of the bed. He sits on his shins on the pillow and looks towards the door as it opens. Master strides in.

He pauses once his eyes fix on his pet. Standing at the door with an armful of folders, he stares at Francis' expectant expression. "Good..evening, Francis.", Master greets as he lifts his gaze from him, and begins towards his desk. Francis silently watches him, worrying if he'll notice he messed with his things.

"Johanna informed me you were drinking rather obnoxiously earlier.", Master calmly says as he sets his folders beside his iPad. Francis tenses up and lowers his gaze to the floor. "And?", he challenged, fiddling with the end of his blanket with his fingers. A pause only came. He raised his eyes to Master once he heard footsteps. Francis starts slightly when Master crouches down in front of him suddenly. Master's waistcoat grows taut across his chest. Master's dark, penetrating eyes are staring into his. Feeling fearful, Francis lowers his eyes to Master's chest. So this is what it has come to? Him being afraid of Master's decisions? Maybe not always. Master does have reason to be upset, after all. Drinking without permission is disobedience.

When a hand suddenly grabs his jaw, forcing his eyes to meet his gaze, Francis jumps, his hands raising. Master's eyes search in Francis', and then his hand slides over the back of Francis' neck. A gentle caress.

"Are you okay, love?", Master whispers, his eyes softening from his scrutinizing. Francis shivers at the name of endearment. He sets his hands on Master's polished shoes. Francis dips his head down, using his hair to shield his expression. Master's hand is cold on his neck.

Francis chuckles lightly, feeling rather foolish and selfish. As always.

"You know how I get when you ignore me.", he murmurs, raising his navy blue eyes to Master's. The gentle expression on Master's face hardens. He frowns. The hand on his neck slides down, and rests on his shoulder instead. Master's evergreen eyes slide from his, to look at his hand on his shoulder.

"So, this is you just being needy?", Master quietly inquires, and his eyes wander back to Francis'. Francis' lips tighten into a frown. Master smiles lightly. "Fine. If me disciplining you is such a problem, to make you so depressed, then I will give you more attention.", he softly says, and it makes Francis' heart rate increase. Francis lets out a shaken exhale, and stares into Master's eyes.

"Do you fear I'm growing bored of you, Francis? Is that why you are so...", Master begins, "Sensitive?" Francis glares at him, and Master grins a toothy smile, revealing those crooked teeth. Master suddenly leans in to press a swift kiss to Francis' forehead. Francis, stunned, watches him as he sits back with an amused expression.

"No, Francis. Don't uselessly worry yourself. You are a good pet, one I intend to care for, for a long while.", Master says, his grin dying down. Francis feels embarrassed, and drops his eyes from Master's expression. The hand on his shoulder lifts, and Master stands. Francis watches him as he approaches his desk.

"For now, I need to deal with this. I would like you to sit at my feet.", Master sternly informs him, not casting him a glance. Francis hesitates, confused, because Master gathers his things again. So not in here? Master clicks his tongue, and Francis hurries to stand. He can feel his heart begin to accelerate, no doubt with anticipation and excitement. What does Master mean by giving him more attention? Does that include making love? Francis tries to repress his smile, and ducks his head down as he follows after Master, down the hallway.

Master is walking rather swiftly, so Francis has to hurry to catch up. Francis notices how Master has a free hand, his other supporting the pile of folders in his arm. Reaching out, Francis slides his hand easily into Master's. It seems to have startled him, because his dark emerald eyes glance back to him. Francis gives him a shy smile. Master averts his eyes as they begin down the staircase, their hands linked still.

They move into the sitting room. Francis feels disappointed when Master pulls his hand away to shut the doors behind them. Francis blinks rapidly a few times when Master locks the doors. When Master turns to face him, Master looks amused once he sees his shocked expression.

"Now, no one will interrupt my work.", he explains easily as he brushes past his pet, towards the sofa across from the fire place. Francis watches warily as the Englishman sets his folders loudly down onto the polished surface of the coffee table. Averting his eyes, Francis glances towards the window. The drapes are still drawn back. The dark clouds earlier have begun to release the downpour, it seems. He hadn't really processed the soft, almost inaudible, drumming of the rain until now.

"It seems its raining often..", he softly says, and moves his gaze back to Master. He finds Master watching him with his hand resting on the back of the couch, his eyes unreadable. Master's hand on the back of the couch draws his attention briefly to the folded up blanket from earlier, which he had draped over it.

Francis gives a smirk, returning his ocean-colored eyes to his Master, "But you enjoy the rain, don't you? Its a shame you enjoy the dreary, depressing things." Master rolls his eyes, and then huffs as he turns to take a seat at the couch, reaching towards the top folder, "Rain is of nature, Francis. Its a cleanser. It brings life to the animals and the plants, and ultimately, those creatures keep us alive as well. Rain keeps life going. Now, come and sit at my feet."

Francis lowers his eyes as he approaches the couch. He sees how Master no longer pays him mind; hes going through the papers in the folder. Francis listens to the pattering of the rain as he takes a slow seat at Master's feet, positioning himself on his shins, placing his hands flatly on his thighs. He remains silent, and stares aimlessly at the stack of wood in the fireplace before them. The sounds of Master shuffling his papers mixes with the sound of the rain hitting the roof, drumming against the window panes.

Its a peaceful silence. Francis feels his mind grow calm, clearing to focus mainly on the sounds and the feeling around him. Many long minutes pass. Francis feels soothed by what Master has ordered him to do. It has been a while since Master directly ordered him to sit at his feet. It was mostly an unspoken rule amongst them, that Francis has learned to obey without being told to.

But now, Francis thinks as he gently rests his head on Master's knee, Master is acknowledging him, without addressing him. Its nice. Francis closes his eyes.

Soon, the rain begins to grow harsher. Maybe Francis could understand Master's reasoning for enjoying this weather. The rhythmic drumming of the rain drops are very soothing and comforting. It almost makes Francis fall into sleep. But what grounds him to consciousness is the sudden weight over his head. Francis shifts his head on Master's thigh, and realizes its Master's gentle hand.

Master takes the time to stroke his thin fingers across Francis' head, over his ear and across his soft locks. Francis shuffles closer on his shins, and he hesitates to move his hands from his thighs, but he does end up caressing the flesh of Master's calf, curling his hands around the back. A quiet hum emits from Master above him.

Then the hand lifts from his head and the shuffling of papers begins once more. Francis opens his eyes to gaze tiredly at the coffee table, and the stack of folders. He wonders what time it is. He had his dinner before Master returned, so it must be around 19:00. Sighing, Francis pulls away from Master. Master stops messing with his papers and looks at Francis. Without speaking, Francis raises his gaze to him and then moves up onto the couch to Master's side. He nudges Master's arm aside, and Master raises his arms to let Francis rest his head in his lap, his long golden locks splaying on his thighs.

"Are you tired, Francis?", Master quietly asks, looking down at him. Francis nods, and turns onto his side, facing Master's flat stomach and his dark colored waistcoat. He shuffles closer and brings his limbs in, curling in on himself. Master is quieter as he goes through his papers.

Listening to Master's breathing, and hearing the rain on the roof, Francis feels his consciousness drift away. A hand strokes over his hair just as he slips under the darkness.

* * *

**A/N: **Johanna will have more of a meaning next chapter.

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	7. Commitment

The delicate suds of the body wash slipped down Francis' back and toned arms, building at the surface of the bath water. The steam emitting from his arms and the water itself billowed up into the air, disappearing, but met again at the wide mirror of the bathroom. It was a little suffocating, the steam.

Francis dramatically sighed as Master rubbed one of those puffy things over his back. Francis doesn't recall their proper name-the Puffy Thing will have to do. But Master's strokes were gentler today. Not so forceful, impatient. Master was in a good mood, then.

"What is it Francis", Master more demanded than asked. Francis gave a forlorn exhale into the steamy air. Master stopped scrubbing. Francis was bored. He could wash his body much faster than him. Master was using slow hands. And they haven't even gotten to his hair yet! So tedious. If Master were not here to exchange more intimate touches with him (why would a partner join another for a bath other than that?), then it was a waste of his time. Maybe he just wanted to groom his pet like a responsible Master.

"Francis, I'm done with your back. Wash your lower half, would you?", Master says and passes the poof thing to him. Frowning, Francis stared down at it's foamy self. Master always did this. Its not like pets cleaned their own genitals. Well...Francis wasn't going to lick himself clean, that's for sure. He sighs.

"I don't feel like it. Why don't you do it?", Francis says with a lack of emotion to his tone, and just brushes the poof thing away. He had turned so his back was to Master, but since they're done with that, he moves so his back is properly against the end of the tub. Peeking over at Master, Francis notices he's glaring at him with a furrowed brow and a displeased frown on his lips. Francis quirks a brow.

"Francis, I'm not going to wash your arse for you.", Master plainly states. Francis gives a brief chortle. "My dear", Francis begins and gives a sly smirk, "I'm not on my stomach, am I?" That makes Master's glare darken. There goes that good mood, then. Maybe he should just wash his most private parts himself. He doesn't want Master to scrub it _off_.

"And isn't Master supposed to wash me?", he muses, and innocently gazes at his bottle green eyed partner. Master rolls his eyes and then snags the poof thing. "_Fine."_, Master snaps, shooting a scowl at him before he reaches for Francis' crotch, the subs floating on the water covering that bit of his body.

"Without that. I don't want you to hurt me.", Francis promptly says with an insisting tone. Master sighs loudly and tosses it to the other end of the tub. "I'm going to hurt you anyways...", Francis hears Master grumble as he scoots his stool closer to the side of the tub.

Francis is shocked he won the argument so easily. Master collects a drop of body wash in his wet hands, and then rubs his hands together until they're covered in vanilla-scented suds. Francis' stomach leaps when Master dips his hands into the water. The sleeves to his button up shirt are rolled up to his elbows, so they don't get wet.

Francis' boredom is gone the instant Master's warm hands meet his hips. He remains silent. The suds shielding the view of his crotch move away and he watches as Master's smaller hands slide down his hips. He holds his breath when Master curls his thin fingers around the flaccid shaft of his cock. Instantly, Francis feels arousal tug in his gut and his cock already begins to fill out. Master doesn't comment as he reaches his other hand down to rub at Francis' balls.

Lightly shifting his hips, Francis lets his eyes fall close for a brief moment when Master begins to rub his fingers over the shaft of his cock. But he wants to watch, so he opens his eyes. He bites his lip when he sees Master rub his fingers over the pink head. Now, he was (perhaps too quickly) erect. Flicking his gaze to Master's face, Francis sees it only flushed, without any expression adorning his features. The hand that was previously "washing" his balls move to rest on his hip as the hand holding his arousal strokes a few times.

"That's enough.", Master murmurs and withdraws his hands suddenly, rivulets of water traveling down over his fingers, falling off his fingertips. Francis hums thoughtfully and tilts his head, "Master, you missed a spot." He grins when Master gives him a glare.

"If you are so thorough, do it yourself, idiot.", Master grumbles as he reaches for the shampoo bottle resting by his side. Francis' grin dies down. Damn it, now what was he going to do about this erection? That was too much to just ignore. Maybe he could ask if he could touch himself. He almost laughs at how ridiculous it sounds, for someone his age to request the ability to get himself off.

"Wet your hair.", Master instructs as he pours a little bit of the shampoo into his palm. Francis gives another melancholic sigh as he dips his head under the water.

* * *

A few hours later on the same day, Francis sits on a lawn chair in the front yard of the manor, gazing out at the many flowers framing the property of the house. Lounging back into the chair with his legs splayed out in front of him, Francis raises his lit cigarette to his lips, his eyes squinting in the sunlight as he watches his Master tend to some carnations, his usual elegant clothing replaced with a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans that were tight on his legs. No doubt both pieces were expensive.

"Francis, blow the bloody smoke the other way.", he hears Master complain in front of him as he wags a gloved hand around his head. Francis gives throaty chuckles as he exhales a gust of smoke to the side, the light breeze whisking the dark smoke away. It was a day where Master could stay home. Entertain Francis. Well, as entertaining as watching someone gardening could become. It was better watching his love than the clouds.

Master was grumbling something as he grabbed his trowel, and began to earnestly dig at the fresh patch of soil. He had young Eucharis flowers in those...small case things by his leg. Francis doesn't know any gardening terms. It was those tiny green cases that usually held bloomed flowers. Sighing, Francis took another drag of his cigarette.

His last one of the day.

"Master, what if you get skin cancer, just digging away in the sun?", Francis muses aloud, expelling the smoke from his nostrils. Master huffs, and says with a raised voice, "I don't spend enough time out here to get cancer, Francis. And it is the fall nonetheless, the sun isn't out too often. Today just happens to be a nice day." Francis smiles and watches how Master's shoulder rise and fall after each dig of his trowel, bony elbow bending back.

"Hey.", Francis says, and earns a glare over the shoulder, "I'm bored. Can you touch me like you did in the bath this morning?" Master's face contorts into a scowl, and he flips him off before he returns to his work. Francis grins, revealing his white teeth. Really, he was hot (both definitions of that word, Thank You Very Much), and he had nothing to do out here.

"Master", he calls, but gets no response. So he pulls himself from his chair after placing his cigarette into the ashtray on the arm rest, and approaches the crouched form of his Master, his feet rustling the grass as he goes. He drops down into a crouched position as well, and leans obnoxiously close to the Englishman, watching as he delicately pats a new Freesia flower into the small hole he had just dug. Francis turns his head towards Master and watches his flushed face, taking notice of his furrowed brow and squinting eyes.

Those squinting eyes jump to his, the dark green in his irises alluring. Francis offers a smile and quirked brow, adjusting on his feet in his crouching. "What, Francis.", Master deadpans, his eyes remaining on Francis'. Francis gives a small laugh, amused, and leans into Master's side.

"Damn it, stop!", Master growls, but its too late. Being on his unsteady feet in his crouched position, Francis' weight results in Master to fall over with his arms flailing. Francis couldn't really hold back his laughs as Master gives him a piercing glare from the grass. Francis falls off his feet from laughing, boredom forgotten once more.

"I ought to smack that grin off your face", Master snaps as he regains his stance, "Annoying prick." Francis' laughter softens, now reduced to chuckles as he moves to stand up, brushing his pants off. Master sighs, "If you're bored, don't entertain yourself by pestering me."

"Alright, you're not very fun anyways", Francis sings, jokingly, and snatches his ashtray. His cigarette is still burning away within it. He lifts it to his lips as Master grumbles in retaliation, "I'm plenty fun when I feel like it.." Francis takes the last drag of the cigarette and then grinds it down into the ash tray, standing beside his lawn chair.

"Just remember to be in for dinner, the maids are preparing it right now.", Francis casually says as he releases the smoke from his nostrils, the smoke curling up into the air, and watches Master begin on another hole for a different flower. "You don't need to remind me.", Master says, not throwing a glance over his shoulder. Francis grins and then turns to pace towards the front door.

* * *

The rain pounds onto the pavement and the clusters of grass, covering every perspective with sheets of rainwater. A chill seeps through the air, clinging onto every surface. Red tints that of a light peach. It darkens as time passes.

Perched on the few stone steps leading to the grand front doors, Francis puffs on his third cigarette of the evening. His knees are high on the second step, perched on the last third himself, and his forearms rest over his knees, sleeves to his thick, grey sweater rolled to his elbows. The hairs on his arms are in rows like a barley field. Cheeks and nose tinted a deep red from the cold fall evening, Francis looks like an attractive, lean Saint Nicholas.

Sighing, Francis flicks the building ash of his cigarette. His hands were growing cold. Yet, he would rather observe the falling 'cleanser' that Master so appreciates, than be stuck in the house, like always, whether his hands were cold or not. He takes his slender fingers and brushes his long locks behind an ear as he raises the cigarette to his lips, taking a gentle inhale.

Like a dragon, he exhales the smoke from his nose a moment later. He watches as it billows up, soon to be bombarded by the pelting rain. Francis remains sitting there for the next long thirty minutes, letting his mind wander and sometimes clear, just to listening to the rain. But eventually he grows bored.

Master has been at work for the past five hours. Only a few more, and he would return. Francis sighs and lays back on the cool pavement of the front steps to the manor, his golden hair splaying out around his head. He gazes up at the canopy as he gives a heavy drag of his cigarette. He blows out the smoke, seeing it release as steam would from a train.

Then suddenly the door is drawn open, making Francis jump. He cranes his head back and sees Johanna standing there with her hand resting over the door frame. Her hair is like a curtain around her shoulders, curled finely at the ends. Her make up is a lot more tame today. Not so much eye shadow, or lipstick. Just eye liner. Francis arches a brow and sits up, turning to look back at her. Dark violet wrap dress.

"Master Kirkland will be upset if he were to learn of you stealing his cigarettes.", Johanna states, and crosses her arms. Now, her nails were black. Her fingers rested over her clothed biceps, the black of her nails mixing well with the deep purples of her dress.

"Yeah", Francis says and then cheekily takes a long suck on his cigarette. She rolls her eyes. He grins as he releases the smoke from his nose. Some of it got in his eyes, and he blinked harshly. When he looks at her again, she's grinning.

"Its ironic how you go to such lengths, only to build onto your inevitable cancer.", she muses, and he gives throaty chuckles, shaking his head. "Right. Tell me again in thirty years.", he retorts and takes a last inhale to his cigarette, before grinding it down into the ashtray. The thrumming of the rain fills the silence.

"It is rather chilly out here. You've been outside for a bit, why not come inside? I'll start up a fire in the sitting room.", he hears Johanna offer behind him. Francis gives a knowing smile, and glances back at her, "As long as you provide some wine, you've convinced me."

She smirks lightly and then disappears back into the interior of the large house. He continues to smile lightly as he grabs the half-empty packet by his side, as well as the ash tray. Once he gets up with a grunt and turns to enter the warmer lobby, he nudges the door close with his hip. He carefully stacks the pack onto the ash tray to lock the door.

He hears cluttering to his right, so he begins towards the ajar doors of the sitting room, seeing Johanna crouched at the fire place, her hands hidden within the fire place. Soon, after Francis had set the ash tray down on the fine coffee table, he notices the light from the fire licking at her facial features. She glances back at him as she stands, smoothing out her dress.

"I'll fetch the wine.", Johanna casually informs him, and he nods, before she leaves the room, the tapping of her heels beginning as the carpet becomes hardwood. Sighing, Francis takes a heavy seat in the couch. It becomes silent then-but the constant drumming of the rainfall fills the quietness. He stares at the fire spreading through the arranged logs, consuming the oxygen as it grows. He wishes that Arthur was by his side, curled up beside him with a book, knees nudging into his thigh. Francis tiredly runs hands over his face just as he hears the clicking of heels grow louder.

He keeps his hands over his face, but the click of the door earns his gaze. The doors are shut behind Johanna as she approaches him on the couch with two wine glasses, and an unopened wine bottle. He gives a light smile as she takes a spacious seat beside him, setting the glasses and bottle down on the exorbitant coffee table, beside the ashtray.

"I'm not that knowledgeable with wine, but I assume it would be good, by it's age.", she says as she crosses her legs, Francis' eyes flickering briefly to them. He lifts his gaze to her's, and he gives a light smile and then turns the bottle his way.

2002. Not bad for Red Burgundy wine.

"Yes, it is fine.", Francis says and then gives her a light grin. She smiles gently. Francis averts his gaze back to the bottle, and then reaches over to pull out the cork. It seems she loosened it in the kitchen, then. He pours their glasses half-full, and then sets the bottle down. Offering her a glass, she gives a sarcastic dip of her head and accepts it with delicate fingers, but not without closing her fingertips around his fingers. Francis gives a smirk.

They both take sips of their wine, appreciating the fine taste for a moment. Francis hums and lightly runs his tongue over his bottom lip. She made a good choice, then. Exhaling, he glances towards her, cupping his glass in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward a bit. She's watching him with her dark brown eyes.

"Do you like the rain?", she asks gently. Her hands are in her lap, wine glass supported by a palm. He pauses, humming thoughtfully, and listens to the gentle drum of the rain against the roof above their heads. "I suppose. Well, I'm more..inspired to enjoy it. It is life, after all.", he muses, and smiles to himself as he takes a brief drink of his wine.

"Very insightful.", she jokes and he chuckles, staring down into the deep color of the beverage with his finger running over the spotless glass casing it. Its silent for a moment, again. He purses his lips.

"Er, I don't think I ever asked.", Francis begins, lifting his ocean-colored eyes to her's. Well, he wasn't really interested back then (not that he entirely is now, but its conversation). She quirks a brow. "How did you end up as Arthur's maid?", he inquires.

She gives a gentle smile. Sighing softly, she brushes her dark hair out of her face with quick fingers, and then looks to him again. "I have known him since he was still under his father's rule. Just as a family acquaintance. I ended up as his caretaker_, _because his father trusted me, and gave me the responsibility. For a sum of money, of course." He arches a brow, now interested. Arthur never mentioned her, before Francis joined him in this home. If she had been around that long, Arthur would have spoken of a childhood friend, right? Francis was assuming they were about the same age. Johanna didn't appear that much older than Arthur. Maybe a few years.

"I see.", he speaks and watches as she takes a delicate drink of her wine. Johanna gives a light laugh, "It took a while for him to warm up to me. Master Kirkland insisted that I was just a longer leash that his father had a hold of. Yet, I haven't spoken with his father for many years."

Silently, Francis gazes down at his drink, carefully swirling the wine within it with lazy spins of the glass. He wonders why Arthur never mentioned it. Ah, but then again, he was sensitive with topics regarding his father, no matter how unimportant the man may be in it. Francis gives a gentle smile. Arthur was a sensitive person, after all. Underneath that mask of his. The hard, defensive shell that even Francis had difficulty digging under sometimes.

"What I've noticed though", Johanna begins, earning Francis' attention once more. Her eyes are watching him. "He seems to be straying to other things than giving his pet attention."

Francis slyly smiles and quirks a brow. "Oh?", he muses, "What would lead you to that conclusion?" Now, really, he was only challenging her. She fell right into it, with a knowing look across her facial features. Yet, she doesn't reply. Francis watches her as she stands from the couch. With a feminine hand, she smooths out the skirt to her wrap dress, and paces past Francis with eased strides. He watches her as she approaches the window to their right, glass in hand.

"Master Kirkland is a more practical person, you may know.", Johanna begins with a calm tone, lifting her glass to her lips for a sip of the fine beverage as she aimlessly gazes out towards the sky. She flickers a gaze to Francis, "But I can tell he is merely disciplining you."

With a scoff, Francis waves her off dismissively, turning his head away. He takes an impatient drink of his wine, and wills his annoyance away from her comment. She doesn't know anything. He doesn't turn to look at her when he hears the soft padding of her heels on the carpet as she approaches the couch. He assumes she will take her seat again, but instead she stops on the other side of the arm rest.

"Perhaps, it is not the correct way.", he hears her muse aloud with a soft tone, earning his navy blue eyes once more. Francis sees how the wine glass is missing from her grip. She must have left it on the window sill.

"I know", she begins in a gentle voice, and Francis watches her with expressionless eyes, and an unreadable face, as she leans over, hand propped on the arm rest. "That he doesn't fuck you anymore", she murmurs when she is level with him, her dark eyes fixed on his, searching in them. Francis raises a brow, a silent challenge, and gives a perk of a smile.

Francis flicks his eyes down to her soft lips, and returns his gaze to hers, "What makes you think that?", he inquires with a smooth tone. She smirks. Her long black hair frames her face, and clashes with her dark lipstick. Francis watches with a cool expression as she leans in close, and whispers, "He told me."

He wasn't all that surprised when she angled her head to kiss him. Yet, his shock was focused on what she had said. Why would Arthur tell her that he would be neglecting towards Francis? He thought Arthur was too proud for that. Then again, maybe she was messing with him.

When he feels a soft hand curl up into his long, luscious locks, he jerks out of his confusion, and realizes he's maybe letting this go on for too long. He doesn't return the share of lips, only lets her purse her lips to his, before he sits away from her. She looks at him with no emotion in her features.

The hand in his hair slides down, over his neck and down his collarbone, resting over his chest. "I could fulfill that desire you hold", she whispers, eyes flickering down to where her hand lay. Francis smiles softly, but doesn't move from her. This was amusing. Arthur's trusted family friend, a woman he's known for many years, coming onto his beloved pet.

"I'm afraid that desire you speak of is only for Arthur.", Francis replies casually, and gently takes a hold of her hand, and moves it from his chest, setting it back down to the delicate fabric of the arm rest. A look of expectation eases over her face. At least she would know she tried, Francis thought with amusement, a light smile drifting over his lips.

Standing straight, Johanna smooths out her skirt once more, and then hums. "That's a shame.", she plainly states, and turns to retrieve her glass of wine from the windowsill. Francis chuckles quietly, and lifts his glass to his lips, watching her with delight in his eyes as he takes the last drink of his wine. She stands there in her heels and seductive dress, wine glass in her curled fingers, with a blank look upon her face.

"If you decide to inform Master Kirkland of this..it is your decision.", Johanna says with a tone of disappointment in her voice. Francis gives a gentle shake of his shoulders, and then sets his empty glass on the coffee table beside the wine bottle.

"Thank you for the wine.", he calmly says, and offers her a smile. Her face remains unchanged. With that, Francis stands smoothly from the couch, and paces quietly out of the room with controlled strides.

* * *

Boisterous laughter and conversation drifted through the rooms and halls of the large house. Many bodies were packed within it's interior-some sitting or standing, others dancing or drinking. Music from The Beatles' earlier years rang loudly in the sitting room.

The mix of laughter and conversing was such an amusing thing just to listen to. Well, Francis thought that, sitting on a couch against the far wall with a red cup of wine in his hand. With his arm drawn over the back of the couch, no one had claimed a seat beside him. He preferred it that way. Sometimes, he liked being just the observer. He already mingled with the ladies nonetheless.

It was getting rather late, actually. People were more disoriented than they had been two hours ago. Yet, Francis only had nursed on one or two cups of the wine. This being his third. He still had some of his right mind left.

Shrieking laughter suddenly burst through the air. It seems a couple that were dancing rather ridiculously had stopped, seeing as the boyfriend of the pair lifted his girl onto his shoulder, her legs and arms flailing. Francis averted his gaze to the people he recognized. His friend Gilbert was pestering Roderich again. Antonio was busy flirting with a brown haired girl with a temper. Francis didn't feel the urge to join Gilbert with pestering the man of the house. If Roderich had to sacrifice the decency of his house for this, Francis wouldn't want to harm his patience as well.

Eventually, he grew bored of sitting there, watching the same things occur. He was used to this, seeing as Gilbert and Antonio insisted on him attending these typical college 'parties' all the time. With a sigh, he took himself and his cup of wine from the couch, and slipped past all the animated and restless bodies, towards the staircase. He wouldn't mind exploring the endless house of Roderich Edelstein. Francis barely knew the guy, but his home could be more interesting.

The first room he came across in the hallway on the left wall was a wide bathroom. A couple was kissing on the floor. He crinkled his nose in disgust. Why would they think kissing on cold tile would be romantic?

He turned back to the hallway. The next door held a closet with many folded sheets and some pillows. So far, so boring. Maybe he could find a bedroom to hang out in until it relaxed a bit more downstairs. Well, maybe any bedroom at a party would be occupied.

As he considers it, he glances into an open doorway, beside the bathroom. This room seemed a lot more promising. A sitting room. Shelves of book lined a wall, some expensive-appearing couches lined the opposite wall, small tables between each one. He silently paced into the fine looking room, enthralled with the many books filling the shelves. Drifting his gaze across the room, he stops in his steps when he notices someone perched on a couch, legs crossed below them, book in lap with their eyes drawn down.

This person had sandy blonde hair, and it seemed to poke obnoxiously in every direction. Quirking a brow, Francis wondered lightly why they chose to be up here, _reading_, instead of attending the party they supposedly came for. Then again, Francis had escaped the riot as well.

"Hey", he greets, and it jolts the blonde out of his intense reading, his head jerking up to lock his stare on Francis. Francis winds around the coffee table, and crossed the distance to stand by the opposite arm rest of the man, and casually sips loudly at his wine with his navy blue eyes fixed on the guy.

He had piercing bottle green eyes, a small nose, freckles dotting the bridge, and thin lips. And God awful thick eyebrows. Which were furrowed down in only what Francis assumed to be annoyance. "Do I know you?", the green-eyed cutie blurted, his long thin fingers tapping impatiently on the book. He had an English accent. Terrific.

Francis gave a light smile, and lazily held his cup at waist height. He looked rather pretty when he was at peace, reading that book. But now he looked sour and intimidating. Well, not intimidating to Francis. Francis liked challenges, and this kid screamed _fuck off_.

"No, but I know you."

_ "Oh_?", he sarcastically urged him on with an 'interested' tone of voice.

_ "_Yeah.", Francis begins and motion towards him with the hand holding his cup, "You're Mr. Stick Up The Ass." Francis gives a snort at his own joke and watches as the blonde's annoyed expression darkened to a deep scowl. He doesn't look like a very patient person.

"If you're here just to get some entertainment by harassing me, I'll have you know I won't hesitate to show my foot up your arse.", Mister Prissy Pants hisses at him. "Not very similar to a stick, but I'll give you some credit. Not bad.", Francis retorts with a thoughtful expression, and then grins with amusement, revealing his teeth.

That just urges him to drop his gaze back to his book, a glare upon his features. It seems he decided to ignore him. So Francis lowers himself on the couch to his side with a grunt, almost stumbling from his drunkenness. He sighs and leans back into the cushion, his hands resting in his lap, hands curled around his cup. He rolls his gaze back to the guy. His glare is more apparent this close, but he is also a lot more cute. Jeez, Francis really was drunk then.

He's wearing an evergreen colored polo shirt and jeans that are tight to his legs. A watch is around his thin wrist. Gazing blankly, Francis notices how bony his fingers and wrists are. His arms are rather slender too.

"Sod off", the Brit hisses, when he glances over to see Francis checking him out. Francis flicks his eyes back to meet his irises. Wow, his eyes were shockingly green. Francis doesn't recall ever meeting someone with such _green _eyes. He did have a teacher who had eyes a shade a bit darker. But damn, this guy had pretty eyes, too!

"My name is Francis.", Francis says smoothly and that makes green eyes' tight expression darken. "Great", he snaps as he diverts his attention back to his book. Francis gives a laugh and watches him with half-lidded eyes, swirling his cup around in his lap. "Well, now that I am no longer a stranger, am I permitted to ask for your name?", he inquires casually. Apparently, that urges the blonde to his side to tighten his grip on the book. But then, those thin fingers grow gentler a moment later.

"Arthur", he hears green eyes mumble. At least Francis can put a name to that grumpy face of his. With a light smile, Francis says, genuinely, "Lovely name." That makes Arthur's face flush. He wonders if from embarrassment or anger. Either way, it makes him feel amusement. Then a moment of silence passes, and Francis averts his gaze down to Arthur's folded legs.

Francis notices Arthur hasn't turned a page in a while.

"Is there a reason you aren't participating in the party you attended?", Francis breaks the silence with a question of sincere curiosity. He does wonder why Arthur would rather stay upstairs, diving into a book that he probably found in some guy's library. He did come here for the party after all. Then again, Francis doesn't have room to talk. He is given a glance of his dark bottle green eyes. A light shrug comes from him as well.

"I..don't really have an interest in interacting with these lowly people. I like drinking, but not with others.", Arthur explains quietly, and then gives a deep exhale. Francis quirks a brow and takes a brief drink of his lessening wine. "Why come here in the first place then?", he prods, eyes drifting down Arthur's face, his eyes fixing on his thin lips.

He raises his eyes back to Arthur's once he speaks once more. His English accent was very magnetizing. "My boyfriend wanted me to come.", Arthur answers in a grumble, his fingers fiddling with the corners of the pages to his book. Francis forces himself not to dwell on his drunken disappointment.

"And why isn't he here keeping you company?"

Arthur gives a light laugh, and averts his gaze to him, searching in his ocean blue eyes. "He never showed up.", he says with a light smirk and then drops his gaze down back to his book. Francis frowned. Why would he stand Arthur up? Well. Maybe Francis could understand, but then again, if they were together in the first place, his boyfriend must enjoy all of Arthur's sides.

"Then why are you still here?", Francis wonders and then finishes the rest of his drink. He sets his cup on the table to his side. He glances back to Arthur. Arthur smirks and waves his book, "Got distracted." Nodding, Francis gives a smirk. Then they both grow quiet.

After a long moment, Francis let his curiosity get the best of him. "Who is your boyfriend?", he cautiously asks, and then finishes with, "If I know him, I could tell if you if I saw him downstairs or not." Arthur purses his lips, and then he closes his book, setting it aside for now. "Ivan. He's a big guy, real tall. You wouldn't miss him.", Arthur answers (shockingly), and quirks a brow. Francis hums, and makes a thoughtful expression, curling his fingers around his chin as he gazes at the ceiling. He hears Arthur snort.

"No, sorry.", Francis sighs as he drops his hand, returning his gaze to him, "I don't recall that name, and I never saw someone that tall stick out." A look of mild disappointment slides over Arthur's features, but it dies as fast as it came. His expressionless face is back, and he looks down to his lap, watching as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

"That's fine.", he says, and then raises his gaze back to Francis. "Why are _you_ here, then?", Arthur suddenly presses, his expression hardening a little bit. Stirred on by the wine, Francis takes a moment to appreciate his facial features once more. His eyes were very striking. Francis wanted to kiss his lips. He hummed for long moment.

"My friends pulled me along.", he passively explains with a blank expression upon his face. He wonders why he was ditched too. Then he retorts with a question, returning his gaze to Arthur's, "What are you studying?"

Instantly, Arthur answers with, "Entrepreneurship, business law, general biology, microbiology. As well as chemistry. You?" Francis gazes at his set expression, trying to piece together what all those classes could result in for a career. He's momentarily distracted by the question directed towards him.

"..Uh", he begins, "culinary...stuff. Business, too." His classes are blanking on him for a moment. Very smooth. Shit, how much did he drink? He sighs and rubs at his stubble on his chin. Arthur quirks a brow and then he suddenly laughs, his lips in a grin. Francis blinks, catching the image in his mind. Arthur chuckles and pulls his legs out from their folded position, crossing them instead, "Culinary stuff sounds like a complex class."

Francis gives a throaty chuckle.

Arthur's laughter dies down, as well as his bright expression. Silence drags on, not exactly uncomfortable, but more thoughtful. Francis wonders how it turned out this way. He intended to attend this party to have fun, maybe invite a sweet girl (or guy) back to his room. Not to have a conversation with a guy with a stick up his ass, who was also British. Funny how things turn out sometimes. He smiles gently, gazing down at the design of the carpet. The voice to his side pulls him back from his musings.

"You live on campus?"

Returning his drifting gaze back to him, Francis gives a slow nod, "Yeah. 107c." He sees how Arthur blinks rapidly and then he shakes his head, crossing his arms. Francis, amused, arches a brow and smiles. Arthur gives a few chuckles, and his fingers drum on his bicep as he says, "Are you fucking serious? I stay four doors down." Francis pauses, processes, and then lets out a laugh, shifting on his seat to lean towards the other with delight in his face.

"How come we have never come across each other?", he wonders with a grin, revealing his bright teeth. This was turning out rather surprising. Dare he to say it was fate? That seemed silly. He was mildly shocked he hasn't noticed Arthur's obtrusive eyebrows before.

A bright grin is on Arthur's lips, lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, and Francis flicks his gaze down and notices how they were slightly crooked.. He returns his eyes to Arthur's, thinking it suited him.

"Well", Arthur begins, his grin dying, "I do study most of the time, so I don't have many opportunities to get out like now." Francis hums thoughtfully, and then says, "Being cooped up and frying your brain with your class' content would be awfully boring. You should take breaks." Arthur rolls his eyes, and sits back into the cushion of the couch. He unfolds his arms and rests his bony hands in his lap, adjusting his crossed legs.

"Yeah.", Arthur says briefly, not providing much of a response. His eyes are dropped down to his feet. Francis purses his lips. With a gentle sigh, he leans back into the couch and brushes his long golden hair back. It was getting in his face. "Anyways", he hears Arthur begin, and he returns his eyes to his. Arthur searches in his eyes as he says casually, "I'll see you around then? I should head back in case Ivan is looking for me."

Francis quirks a brow. "Sudden change of heart? Weren't you desperately trying to scare me away with your gruesome eyebrows and sour tongue?" That makes Arthur frown. Francis raises his hands in a defensive gesture, and then laughs lightly. "Kidding. Yeah, see you."

Arthur huffs as he stands, and Francis let his eyes drift down his frame. Somewhat slender and skinny. His pant legs are tight to his skin, and damn, did he intentionally choose those for the party? Francis jerks his gaze back up to Arthur's when the Brit speaks.

"I stay in 103, just so you don't harass another poor bugger.", Arthur assures him, and Francis gives a sarcastic dip of his head, sweeping his hand out. "I appreciate it", Francis jokes with a smirk and it makes Arthur roll his eyes, before he snaps out a goodbye and hurries out the door which Francis had entered a while ago. Amused, Francis thinks that maybe attending this party had been worth it.

He glances over to his side where his partner had been previously sitting, and sees his book resting on the cushion. 'Encyclopedia of Cats.' blared across the cover. Maybe not taken from this library, then. Francis smiles, and stands. He'll have to return it. Given an invitation like this, how could he refuse?

* * *

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**A/N: **I honestly don't know what I'm talking about, regarding college and wine, etc. So if it's horrendously incorrect...just keep that in mind. Also some insight on their relationship, I suppose. (Sorry if Johanna's character is a nuisance! I thought her to be useful. You'll see why next chapter)


	8. Convergence

After a long week of incessant rain, there was a two day break of sunshine. At least, said the weather predictions on Master's iPad. So upon discovering this information, Francis had asked Master later that night, after he returned from work, if they could go out and do something together on one of those nice days. They haven't gone on a date in a while. Luckily, one of those days was on Master's day off from work, so he accepted. He had questioned what Francis had in mind, but Francis wanted it to remain a secret. Well, Master could probably tell what he had in mind based on the picnic basket and the blanket folded in his arms.

That evening of the warmer day, at 15:00, they stepped out of their large home. Francis was dressed in his favorite pair of navy blue jeans, which was ridiculously expensive as always. Accompanying the jeans, he had on an opened wine red button-up shirt with a plain t-shirt beneath. Whereas with Master, he wasn't dressing so casually, as per normal. Maybe not one of his more expensive pieces though. Light grey trousers with a matching waistcoat, a mustard colored dress shirt underneath. He had an exorbitant watch on his wrist and a long Belstaff coat. Despite the predictions, it was a little bit windy, and cloudy. Yet, it was warmer than usual, and that suited Francis fine.

"Judging by your choice of apparel, I'm assuming this isn't going to put a hole in my pocket.", Master commented as they stepped out of the entrance, their shoes tapping on the pavement as they make their way to the front gate, passing the many flowers about and the bright grass. Francis, stirred with excitement, was walking with joy in his step, going a bit faster than Master. It made his collar jingle noisily around his throat, bumping against his collarbone.

"Hey slow down, we have all the time.", Master complains behind him, and Francis throws a glance over his shoulder. He hoists the picnic basket's handle higher up his arm as he calls, "Hurry up you old man, I don't want to waste the precious sunlight before a downpour begins again."

"It's cloudy, you dimwit, there is no sunlight!"

Francis laughs quietly and then does slow his strides. Eventually Master catches up, his hands buried in the deep pockets of his coat. His hair was becoming more ruffled in the breeze. Francis gave him a smile when his bottle green eyes averted to him. The leaves crunched under their feet as they continued down the road, passing the many large and arrogant exteriors of their neighbor's homes.

"Mind telling me why we couldn't take my damn Jaguar?", Master grumbles, pulling his coat tighter around himself. Francis smiles lightly as he brushes his hair away from his face, the light breeze drawing his locks across it. "I thought it would be enjoyable to walk.", he muses gently and flicks his gaze to Master.

"You should be used to chilly weather, you've lived here all your life.", Francis teases, earning a mild look of displeasure from his partner. Sighing, Master pulls a hand out of his pocket simply to wave him off, "You know my body is too _fragile _for weather like that." Francis couldn't entirely tell if that was sarcasm, but he chuckles nonetheless. Francis hooks the folded blanket in the crook of his elbow of the arm holding the basket, just so he can bring his hand into one of Master's pockets, wiggling it down to find Master's hand. He stands closer to Master.

He glances over to look at his expression, and notices how his cheeks are flushed. It isn't cold enough for that reaction. Smiling, he folds his fingers between Master's. Silence continues for a long moment. Although, the sounds of the leaves crunching under their foot steps follow, as well as the crunch of gravel under tires as cars pass, and the occasional tweeting of birds, who must be enjoying the nice day as well. Sighing, Francis appreciates the moment. Inhaling deeply, he catches the scent of _freshness _in the air, no doubt emitting from the trees and the grass and the clear air. Well, as clear as it could get in England.

"So, would you tell me where we are going?", Master speaks up. Francis hums, and considers it. He lets his thoughts grow long, letting silence claim them once more, and simply absorbs the feeling of walking with his love, holding his cold, thin hand in his own again. "Would it bother you if I said I want to keep it a secret?", Francis replies with a question, and it makes Master huff in brief annoyance. "Not...entirely.", Master answers after a long moment.

Someone walking their English bull terrier passes. Francis doesn't answer. He instead adjusts the hold he has on the blanket and the basket, as well as Master's hand within the pocket. "We will arrive soon nonetheless.", he murmurs. Master doesn't respond, but he does give a small squeeze to Francis' fingers.

It take another ten minutes, after breaking out of their road and turning a corner into the city, until they approach an expanse of grass and trees. It was the park they visited a few weeks ago. He can hear Master chuckle to his side. "Not much of a surprise.", he comments and Francis gives a light shrug. They casually walk down the long pathway through the trees, the leaves rustling noisily above them as the wind threads through the branches. There aren't many people around, surprisingly. There was a woman jogging down the pathway, a couple sitting on a bench. And there was a family who had the same idea as Francis; having a picnic, taking advantage of the day.

The blanket was slipping off of Francis' arm, so he gently drew his hand from Master's to take a hold of it. They were close to his spot anyways. The place he usually preferred to sit down was under a canopy of trees, their long branches and drooping leaves making it a more secretive spot. At least Francis thought so. Their footsteps rustled over the grass, until Francis stopped.

Glancing over, he saw Master with a blank look to his face, hands resting in his pockets. His hair moved in the wind, some of the longer locks falling across his forehead. Francis smiles. "Help me spread out the blanket, would you?"

With a light sigh, Master removes his hands from his pockets, revealing his pale, thin hands and held them out. "You know", he began as Francis handed him a corner of the evergreen colored blanket, "Someone of my standards should not be having a cliché picnic in a neighborhood park." Francis gave a laugh as he set the basket down and shook out the folds of the blanket.

"Do you hold those standards by choice, or do your acquaintances limit you to such things? Sitting down in a beautiful park and sharing a meal, enjoying the day and the nature Earth has to offer should be something worthy of jealousy. Plus, the only time you get out is for work."

Master only scoffs as they set the spread out blanket gently down on the green grass. With his long fingers, he deftly undoes the wide buttons of his coat with flicks of his wrists as he retorts with, "Excuse you, love, I go out plenty." Francis rolls his eyes as he grabs the basket to set it atop the blanket, "To drink, maybe." He lifts his gaze to Master's face and sees his cheeks flushed. He smiles as he takes a seat on the blanket, crossing his legs and patting the space beside him.

Without a word, Master takes a careful seat beside him after removing his long coat. He folds it in his lap, after crossing his legs like Francis. His waistcoat is tight to his torso, Francis notices as he opens the top to the basket, revealing the Tupperware containers. Patiently, Master waits. Without a moment of hesitation, Francis smoothly dips his hands into the basket to remove three plastic containers. The caps come off with pops, and he sets the containers side by side.

Master stares into them, and lists what they hold aloud; "Fruits, French bread, cheese...are those biscuits?" Francis gives slow nods and then confirms with, "Yes, I know they're one of your favorite foods."

"Of course you do, we have been together for years after all. I would bloody knock you upside the head if you didn't. Unfortunately, you're too predictable and obsessed with romance to neglect such a thing. You know all my favorite foods.", Master blabbers as Francis retrieves two paper plates from the basket as well as two forks and knives. Francis gives light chuckles and grins.

"Oh, you know me so well.", he dramatically coos, reaching over to catch Master's face in a teasing hold, smushing his cheeks together. Master sputters, with his lips obnoxiously puckered, and slaps his hands away. He delicately rubs at his cheeks as he mutters, "Idiot." Francis laughs lightly as he passes Master a plate.

He motions to the display of foods, "Indulge yourself, Master."

A light frown is upon Master's lips as he reaches for the container of fruits, but pauses. He lifts his gaze to Francis, "Thank you." When Francis gives him a tender smile and a dip of his head, the Frenchman notices how his ears grow pink and he drops his gaze back to the fruits. Francis smiles lightly to himself as Master plucks out a few strawberries, bananas, and grapes. He neglects the cantaloupe and raspberries. Then he takes two slices of cheese and a little bit of the French bread. He leaves the cookies for now.

The only noise that follows is the wind whistling through the leaves, and the whirring of car engines as they pass by on the nearby road. It seems very peaceful. The wind runs through their hair and rustles their clothing. After Francis gathers a little bit of everything, he closes the container over the fruits and cheese. With a delighted sigh, Francis places a sweet strawberry slice onto his tongue, letting the sudden burst of taste soak in. Then he takes a small bite of the cheese, letting the two tastes mend together.

"How did you manage to gather these foods?", Master breaks the silence with a quiet question, and Francis glances over to see him picking at the piece of French bread on his plate. Francis hums and swallows down the strawberry and cheese. "The maids know I enjoy cooking, so they don't argue when I request ingredients or specific foods. Honestly, I do have authority over them as much as you do."

"I don't know about that..", Master murmurs and takes a tiny nibble of his cheese. Francis scoffs, "They've known me before the Ownership Act began. Even if I had become the household _pet_, they still respect me." He sucks on a raspberry on his fingertip, and licks his lips. Master only hums thoughtfully by his side.

"Do you think this fad will lessen eventually?", Francis gently asks as he consumes the raspberry, sucking it off his fingertip. Master is silent, earning Francis' gaze. He watches as Master's hair flails in the wind, his dark emerald eyes fixed on the expanse of trees before them. He's gently nibbling at a grape, not entirely biting down. Then he averts his gaze to Francis'.

He gives a light, unenthusiastic shrug, but speaks a moment later. "All things pass, Francis. You know that.", he replies in a quiet tone of voice, and then bites down on the grape. Francis quirks a brow and then smirks. Yet, he doesn't speak. Instead he finishes off the last of his French bread, before he works on the fruit once more.

The sweet smell of strawberry fills his nose and he exhales deeply. He closes his eyes and focuses on his surroundings. The gentle whisper of breeze drifting through his ears, the sensation of goosebumps breaking over his clothed arms, and the mixed scents of Master's cologne and the grass. He hums gently. He had leaned back, propping up on a hand as he bit down into a strawberry, it's delicate juice awakening his taste buds.

"Sometimes..", he hears spoken softly to his side, making him open his eyes once more, averting his gaze from the bright, cloudy sky to Master's expressionless face, "I feel nostalgic for the way things used to be." Francis, somewhat surprised, blinks a few times and raises his eyebrows lightly. He feels his heart constrict in relief.

Master had set his plate to his side. He had drawn up his legs, and set his forearms on his knees, leaning forward a little bit. Francis thought he looked charming, in his nice clothing, his sandy blonde hair restless and his face set to his typical mask. Francis wanted to see him smile.

He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to Master's cheek, earning his gaze and an arched brow. "I do as well", he honestly says and leans back from his partner. Master looks thoughtful for a moment, and then his face straightens out once more.

Silence replaces their words, and neither of them move for their plates again. Francis feels sadness surge deep inside his heart, and he gazes to the proud trees with an expression of disappointment. If Master longed for their past, why continue this game of theirs? Why not grasp happiness, when it is within reach?

Glancing over at Master, he sees his brow furrowed, eyes hardened, and mouth in a frown. Perhaps, he was wondering the same thing. Francis doesn't want their matched feelings of loss to ruin the evening. He doesn't want to feel anymore sadness.

"Arthur", he softly says, earning his darkly colored eyes. Francis sees his face momentarily stripped of it's shell, revealing a gentle expression with his eyes tender. But the mask is back, covering the look of adoration almost instantly. It was as if Arthur wanted him to strip him of his cover, his cloak of ownership.

"May I kiss you?", Francis asks in a murmur, blue eyes drifting over Arthur's patient expression. A look of hesitation drifts over his lover's face, but then its gone. Without a word, he nods his head, and keeps his gaze fixed on the Frenchman. With a smile, Francis scoots closer, brushing aside the containers of food, and leans into Arthur's side. He can catch a delicate flush to Arthur's cheeks when he rests a hand over the warm flesh.

The wind blows a little bit harsher when Francis leans over to press their lips together, and the dead leaves scattered about the grass flit onto their blanket. Arthur lets Francis gently move his lips over his own, before he disregards his stubbornness and pride, and returns the caress. He rests his hand over Francis' thigh as their lips gently move together.

The familiar sensation of Arthur's thin, slightly chapped lips on his was warming, making Francis smile into the kiss. He gingerly held Arthur's cheeks in his hands, mouthing softly at Arthur's lips, feeling happiness and adoration swell deep in his chest. Arthur's hand on his thigh lifts and meets again at Francis' neck, curling around the back and resting under his long locks.

They break away after a long moment, and Francis angles his head to press tender kisses to Arthur's jawline and cheek, cupping the side of his head as he does so. Arthur remains silent, his eyes falling close. "I love you", he hears spoken gently into his ear, and it makes him smile knowingly. He turns his head to the side and returns the kiss to the cheek.

"And I, you", he murmurs, leaning back to look into Francis' ocean blue irises. A grin breaks over the Frenchman's lips and he gives a swift peck to his mouth, which Arthur returns with a quick purse of his lips. Arthur can't help but smile lightly as well.

* * *

"This had been such a feat to successfully climb, back in the day."

Amused, Francis glances over to him and gazes at his distant expression, staring into the dark sky. "Is that so?", he muses, quirking a brow as he follows Arthur's line of sight. It was a cloudless night, the bright stars coating the dark shade. The grass under him rustled when he shifted.

"Yeah, but since we're bloody adults, it seems to be such a trivial thing.", Arthur murmurs, raising his lit cigarette to his chapped lips, his cheeks hallowing as he took a long drag. Francis is silent as he watches Arthur exhale a line of smoke, like a snake coiling up into the sky. Francis flicks his cigarette, discarding the building ash.

"But it is a stepping stone, whether it is a small one or not.", Arthur continues thoughtfully, and finally averts his piercing bottle green eyes to Francis. "The gift of ascending will always be of importance."

Sitting atop a sloping hill in an elementary school playground, Francis and Arthur were perched against the fence lining the hill, side to side with cigarettes nestled between fingers, breath mingling with the cool air. Dressed in dark jeans and a loose sweater that drooped down his chest, Francis felt cold. He disregarded his shivers. Whereas, Arthur was used to this chill. He was wearing a sweater and cardigan after all. He was wearing the same skinny jeans that he wore when they first met two years ago. Francis had noticed this at three in the morning, when they dressed together to begin their trek to visiting Arthur's elementary school.

Francis gives a smirk, "Or, that is simply bullshit." That earns an unamused expression. Francis chuckles as Arthur retorts with, "Well excuse me for being thoughtful, frog. Everything in this world has a meaning, even if its fucking climbing to the top of a hill in an elementary school's playground." Francis' chuckles escalate to laughing and he's smacked on the arm for it.

"Yes, yes", the Frenchman says with a strain of laughter to his tone and he places an apologetic hand to Arthur's shoulder, "I do believe that sharing your deep thoughts with me does have a meaning as well." He gazes into Arthur's eyes, and when he's given a cocked brow, he says, "It gave me reason to laugh at you." This time, the smack is to the side of his head and he barks out another laugh. Arthur huffs and takes a frustrated suck of his cigarette.

"Moron", is grumbled to his side, making Francis' smile extend. With a hum, Francis presses an obnoxious smooch to the side of Arthur's head, and then says, "I am kidding with you, Arthur." Arthur sputters at the kiss and swats a hand at him, the Frenchman escaping the flailing hand just in time. In the chilly night, Francis couldn't tell if his cheeks were flushed from the cold or from the kiss.

With a roll of his eyes, Arthur straightens out again as he remarks with, "Very original." Francis gasps aloud, earning Arthur's annoyed eyes, and rests his cigaretteless hand over his chest. "I am flattered you noticed! The technique came from, '_Methods to Pester Arthur Kirkland_', by Francois Bonnefoy", he casually says with a grin slipping over his lips. Arthur whispers, _oh my god_ before he completely turns away from the other, facing the road from which they came. Francis chuckles, and instantly leans over to rest his head over his hunched back, closing his eyes, his soft locks draping over Arthur's peach colored cardigan.

"Get off me", is grumbled but he doesn't move.

A long moment of silence passes, with Francis' cigarette burning away between his long fingers, his head remaining over Arthur's curved back, the stars remaining bright in the sky. Then, Arthur sighs audibly.

"Francis, you're the biggest idiot I know."

"I'm _your _idiot, _mon_ _doux._"

"Did you really just say that"

"Yes."

"Idiot."

"I believe we already established this."

Suddenly the back moves away and Francis falls to the dry grass of the hill. It pricks at his neck. Making a displeased expression, Francis cranes his head back to see Arthur turn to face him again, with his legs crossed and back hunched again. His cigarette is almost gone, but Arthur takes one long inhale as he stares down at Francis with his eyes emotionless. Then he raises his hand with the cigarette, and Francis sees the deep red as it grows close to his forehead.

"Ey, watch the face!", Francis whines as he hides his face with his hands, cigarette remaining perched between fore and middle finger. He hears chuckles, and peeks between his fingers. He sees Arthur smiling, eyes amused as he gazes down at him.

"That is not your face, Francis. Its your forehead.", Arthur murmurs with amusement lacing his tone, and Francis huffs dramatically as Arthur puts the spent cigarette out in the ash tray they brought. Then he returns his bottle green eyes to Francis', and Francis sticks his tongue out at him as he discards his used cigarette into the ash tray as well. Arthur smiles down at him. Francis watches aptly as his best friend leans down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, long cold fingers holding the sides of his head as he does so. Francis looks at Arthur's closed eyes.

"As an apology.", Arthur explains casually once he sits back. His hands remained framing Francis' face. Francis grinned brightly up at him and puckered his lips obnoxiously at him. "That was a weenie apology.", he says through his pursed lips and Arthur's shoulders move as he chuckles.

"What are you, ten?", Arthur muses, and then sighs when Francis doesn't relax his puckered lips, his navy blue eyes raised to gaze expectantly up at Arthur. Silence grows long, as Arthur stares down at him, contemplating. Francis quirks a brow and then laughs lightly, before he quietly says,"I'm only joking, Arthur."

Arthur frowns.

"I, typically, would want to keep the peace", Arthur murmurs, and Francis furrows his brow lightly in confusion. Francis remains laying on the grass, hair splayed out. Probably getting stray threads of grass mixed into the long locks. But that is far from his mind. "What do you mean by that?", he asks.

Arthur smirks, "But maybe, I'm declaring this war." Utterly confused/amused, Francis stares up at him, wondering what 'deep' gibberish he is spewing now. He stares up into Arthur's emerald eyes, feeling his thin fingers hold the sides of his head, and watches silently as his best friend leans over to press their lips together, upside down.

Shocked, Francis takes a moment to process what just happened. But his heart beats him to it and starts to hammer in his chest, spreading blood to his cheeks. Francis adjusts to the abrupt change and lifts his hands to slide his long fingers into Arthur's short messy hair. As he suspected, Arthur's lips were slightly chapped.

They kiss gently, just overlapping lips with light purses, until Arthur sits back and gazes down at him with wet lips. Francis remains on the grass, looking up at him, and then he laughs. Arthur catches his lip between his teeth as Francis chuckles.

"I am surprised you were the one to advance.", Francis speaks with amusement coating his words, and Arthur smacks him on the shoulder. "You were taking too bloody long, you twat.", he snaps and Francis begins to laugh again, and Arthur's cheeks grow a deep red as he glares at the fence to their side. Then Francis hisses sharply through his teeth when Arthur pinches his ear, to get the damn arrogant sod to stop laughing.

* * *

Its during a shared meal among Master's friends when Francis tells him.

The noise of silverware against china and light conversation drifts through the room. Master is talking to Mr. Braginski about something Francis didn't care for. As usual. And Mr. Honda was speaking with Mr. Wang. Boooring.

Dramatically, Francis sighed deeply. No doubt in an attempt to earn Master's attention. Perched on his knees at the foot of Master's chair, Francis stares at the knees of the visitors. Again, he sighed. He was ignored. Master was engrossed with Mr. Braginski.

Huffing, Francis begins to grow agitated. He was supposed to be a good pet, but he was growing tired of this routine. Why did he have to listen to Master's dull and typical conversations among the dinner table with his extremely predictable and high-nosed friends? After about ten minutes of ranting about it within his mind, he wanted entertainment.

So, he tugged on the pant leg of Master's trousers. Master neglected to address him, so he gave harsher tugs until Master relented, sighed, and then said excuse me to Mr. Braginski before lowering his dark bottle green eyes to Francis. He quirked a brow, and said quietly, "Yes, love?"

With a smirk curling over his lips, Francis murmurs, "Johanna came onto me."

That made Master's impatient expression escalate to that of shock, and then became expressionless. He rolls his eyes, and then in a hush whisper says, "Do not toy with me now, Francis, I am occupied." Francis furrows his brow, "I am not making this up. While you were gone to work, Johanna kissed me and offered to give me sex, when you weren't providing. She mentioned it-that you _told _her about it."

A look of mild horror crosses over Master's face, but soon the mask replaces it for the sake of avoiding wondering questions of his guests. He takes a long moment to gaze down at his pet, searching in his dark blue eyes for any sign of lying or amusement. There was none, only intensity. With a gentle exhale, Master only gives a slight nod, and then returns his attention back to the guests. He slides right back into the conversation with Mr. Braginski, with ease, a light smile on his lips.

Francis huffed. Maybe the brief reactions he received had been amusing but it only lasted for so long. Francis leans his head against Master's knobby knee, and closes his eyes. Master does not strike him down with an order to present himself properly.

* * *

"Describe it entirely to me", Master orders as soon as they are alone in the bedroom. Francis sits on his calves atop the wide bed, staring over at Master who leaned against the door with his slender arms crossed. His eyes looked tired.

Francis works on removing his dark grey waistcoat as he clears his throat. He hums lightly, thinking back on it. It had been a few weeks ago. He pulls at his tie with quick hands as he says, "She invited me into the sitting room, with a bottle of wine. We spoke about some things, and then she had stood to stand by the window."

He licks his lips as he drapes his tie over the bed. Master's expression is set to stone. Francis gives a light perk of his lips, "And when she returned to the couch, she mentioned her knowledge of you refraining from sex with me, and proceeded to kiss me." Master is silent for a long moment.

"Did you return the kiss?", he softly asks, and Francis gives a light laugh.

"Do you think you should ask such a thing?"

"Yet, you let it happen."

Francis' expression softens to that of thoughtfulness. Yes, perhaps he had. He lets silence take over, and then he continues.

"She said to me 'I can fulfill the desire you hold'", he murmurs, dropping his gaze to Master's feet. "But, of course, I declined her offer. I left after that.", Francis calmly says, staring down at his fingers as he runs his thumbs over each other. Master makes a hum and then paces towards Francis. Lifting his gaze, Francis watches as Master takes a seat beside him.

"I appreciate you remaining loyal.", he gently speaks, raising his eyes to Francis'. Francis gives him a light smile, but doesn't respond. Instead, he lowers his gaze back to his thighs. After a moment of silence, Francis lifts a hand to reach over and slip his fingers around Master's. Master gives a gentle squeeze to his fingers.

"Why did you tell her?", Francis murmurs, flicking his gaze to Master's face once more. Master doesn't lift his eyes to him, his brow furrowing slightly. Francis waits patiently, gazing at his lover's hard expression.

"I _described _to her that I was disciplining you in means of not indulging you, and it seems she understood the meaning behind it.", Master explains with a calm tone of voice, and locks his stern gaze with Francis'. Master gives a light smile.

"It seems disciplining you in this way causes more trouble than I had anticipated."

Francis raises a brow, but doesn't reply.

Master hums and then he stands. His back is to Francis as he pulls at his tie, untying it. Then he works on the buttons to his dress shirt as he approaches their walk in closet. Remaining on the bed, Francis drops his gaze to the floor and wonders what follows now. He can hear Master undressing, putting away the parts to his suit properly. With a sigh, Francis falls back onto the bed, collar jingling, and stares to the ceiling. The collar digs into the back of his neck, but he is used to it, so he ignores it.

He imagines a scenario where they ease back into their previous, equal relationship. Perhaps the Ownership Act will die. Maybe Master will realize that peoples' opinions on him won't matter, in the long run. That doing _this_ is pointless, really. Maybe it had been exciting and new in the first month or so, but now it was just repetitive demeaning. Francis' ego and pride could only be belittled so much.

"You will sleep with me tonight.", he hears spoken by the foot of the bed. Francis, his heart jumping to acceleration, turns his head to look sideways at his Master, who was now dressed in his evergreen colored pyjamas. Francis props up on his elbows.

"...Please define what that means", Francis cautiously says, and is given a roll of eyes. Master paces around the foot of the bed to stand before his pet. Francis fully sits up and raises a brow at him. "I _mean,_ you pervert, that you will share sleep with me, in our bed.", Master impatiently explains. Francis grins brightly. That is almost as good as the other definition!

He leaps from the bed when Master orders him to change.

Once grabbing his pyjama top and bottom from his dresser, he easily undresses before Master and hurries to pull on his pyjama bottom. Then he hastily works on the buttons to the top before he gathers his discarded clothing and enters the walk in closet. Once all articles of clothing are in proper place, he leaps into bed with Master, collar jingling all the while.

"Idiot", Master grumbles as Francis scrambles under the thick comforter, joining Master under the covers. Francis hums and nuzzles into Master's side. He rests his head on his bony shoulder, closing his eyes, and lays a warm hand on Master's belly. He exhales deeply, feeling content and happy. "I am your idiot, after all", Francis murmurs, and hears a quiet noise of confirmation from Master as he feels a gentle hand brush his bangs aside. The hand cups his cheek, thumb stroking over the warm flesh. Master's stomach expands and lowers under Francis' palm.

"Goodnight, Master."

"Sleep well, love."

A moment of comfortable silence passes, before a warm set of lips presses to his forehead.

"As an apology."

Then, the dim light to the lamp resting on the nightstand is turned off with a loud click, and Francis' eyelids grow dark.

* * *

**A/N:** I based the first kiss scene from a personal experience! Although, my pal and I never kissed. But everything else was from a memory of mine.

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	9. Comfort

The last time Francis saw Johanna, was when she was walking out the front door with two suitcases in her grip, her long black hair pulled into that tight bun. It was raining at the time, so she had worn a cloak like thing over her shoulders, it's drooping hood draped over her head, shielding her dark hair. Her eyes were penetrating as she said her good bye to Francis, looking straight into his own with a look of intensity. Francis merely smiled at her, amused.

Master had given her a brief farewell, and she returned it, but her eyes were sad. She wished Master's life to be happy, and then she turned and left, her violet nail-polished hand pulling on her hood to shield her face as she hurries away. Master gently shuts the door behind her.

"Wouldn't you be disappointed? To see someone you've known for many years leave?", Francis asks as Master locks the door with a slow turn of his wrist. Master turns to look at him. His bottle green eyes drift down Francis, and then he levels his gaze with Francis'. "Sentimentality isn't always necessary. She had committed something I will not accept in this household. I am able to rid of her because of this.", Master says with impatience in his tone, waving him off like a grumpy old man as he begins towards the staircase. His feet are heavy on the steps as he ascends, Francis hurrying to catch up.

"Even if I have known her, it is a reprieve not having to worry whether...she is still under the trap of my father's thumb." Francis looks up to the back of Master's head with a thoughtful expression. At least Master was honestly mentioning it. He hums once they stand side by side at the top of the stairs. Master gazes at him with a blank expression, hand resting on the banister.

"Who will take her place?", Francis asks, and Master begins down the hallway in the direction to their bedroom. "A woman named Julianna.", Master simply answers as they continue down the hallway. When they arrive to their bedroom, and Master draws open the door, Francis paces in. He isn't all that surprised when Master presses him into the closed door of their bedroom.

As lips mouth at his neck, Francis muses aloud, "Maybe she will fall for my charms as well, yes?" Master catches some of the flesh in his teeth after those words, and Francis hisses.

"I will fire every maid after the next if it were to be continuous", Master murmurs when he pulls back to stare sternly into Francis' amused ocean colored eyes. His hand slides from the grip on Francis' bicep, to curl his fingers around his throat instead. Francis quirks a challenging eyebrow.

"Because you are _mine_", Master snarls as he digs his blunt fingernails into Francis' skin. With a smirk, Francis wonders how he had been given such a jealous, and protective master. He couldn't ask for anything else.

* * *

Francis hadn't received a punishment since the incident in the garden. He had been as mischievous as ever, but Master had been more tolerating than usual. Maybe he still felt guilty over it. Francis had pretty much gotten over it, though. And, really, he was becoming bored again. He assumed Master would be urged to finally have sex with him after the Johanna ordeal, but not yet, he guesses. So now it was back to the stage of waiting, and receiving disappointment in the end.

Currently, he had been reading an article on Master's iPad, when the door had suddenly opened. Glancing over, he caught the eyes of none other than Master. Startled, he bolted up from his laying position and hurriedly set the iPad aside, hoping Master somehow didn't see. A look of complete irritation crosses over Master's expression. Francis glances over to the clock. It was an hour before he returned!

"Y-you're back early..Master..", he speaks with a cautious tone, and eases in front of the view of the iPad. Master furrows his brow, and then turns to shut the door behind him, the lock noisily turning. Francis feels his heart beat race, his cheeks flushing. "I decided to come home earlier. To see my pet.", Master murmurs and turns to face him again, crossing his arms. "Yet I am surprised to see him disregarding my privacy."

Francis pauses. "You came home for me? Since when do you ever skip work?"

"That is beside the point, Francis. You have disobeyed my wishes and invaded my privacy.", Master sternly shoots back, and approaches the bed with controlled strides. Francis sighs and throws up his hands, "But it doesn't even have a damn password! Its like you're setting up bait, Master, really. Its unfair to not expect me to." That makes Master frown.

"You should know not to prod, whether it is locked or not."

That makes Francis flush darker in the cheeks, his eyes momentarily submitting by falling to the pattern of the comforter. Then his pride reins him in and he raises his eyes to keep them fixed on Master's. "So are you just going to swat me on the hand and chide me with 'bad boy'?", he challenges, crossing his arms as well. Honestly, he was setting himself up for a bad outcome. But then again, he had been bored. Master returning home earlier was a nice change of pace. And the reason being for _him_ made it all the better.

"No. I believe that is too mild a punishment.", Master thoughtfully says, and lets silence take over when he contemplates it. Francis fidgets with his hands (which he rarely does), and bites his lip. Shit, he really messed up. He was about to make some snotty comment but, Master speaks before he could. "I want you to remove your trousers.", Master orders with a stern tone.

This makes Francis raise his eyebrows, but Master's set expression does not falter. A long tense moment of silence claims the room until Francis silently stands from the bed. He warily watches as Master suddenly paces to the bedside. Then he takes a seat on the bed, legs over the side, hands on his thighs. Francis glances at him briefly. With a sigh, Francis works on the belt to his nicely pressed slacks, the metal on metal noisily disrupting the intense silence. After removing his belt, he drapes it over the back of the armchair a few feet away, against the wall, and then he lowers onto his knees to untie his dress shoes.

He takes his time to carefully remove his shoes, setting them side by side beside the arm chair before he removes his socks as well, slipping them within the shoes. Master's expression is hard to read, when Francis looks over at him as he deftly undoes the button and zipper to his slacks.

"I am wondering what punishment could be a result of removing my trousers, but then again, I shouldn't really."

"Silence, Francis."

With a huff, Francis steps out of his pants and then delicately folds them before setting them on the cushion of the arm chair. He turns to Master and arches a brow. Dressed simply in his undershirt, waistcoat, and his sleek wine red colored boxer shorts, Francis attempts to maintain his pride. Master gives him a gentle upturn of his lips. And he pats his thighs. Startled, Francis' expression switches to surprise at the gesture.

"Come.", Master murmurs.

Hesitation lasts, until Francis submits in silence and approaches Master on the bed. He takes a seat beside him, stares at his feet on the carpet, before he brings his legs up. With the last of his resisting, Francis asks, "Wouldn't it be simpler just to scold me? I assure you, I will not trespass on your iPad again.."

Master simply raises a finger, and presses the tip onto his thigh. His face is blank.

Francis sighs aloud, and he sees Master's brow furrow. Then Francis crawls across Master's lap, and gently rests his torso on his slender thighs. He props up on his elbows to relieve some weight. "Ow, Master, your knees are really bony. I wouldn't want you to puncture my side.", Francis whines and Master merely draws down his sleek underwear with a tug.

"Closing your mouth would be advantageous for you.", Master retorts. Francis huffs and sarcastically props his cheek in a raised hand, resting on his supporting elbow. He taps the comforter with an index finger to mock Master with impatience.

A cold hand gently rests on his backside. "Ah, Master, your hands are extremely cold!", Francis jumps and Master couldn't hold back his light chuckles. "They will warm shortly. Don't complain like an infant so frequently, it is not attractive.", Master murmurs and Francis frowns. He glares at the dark shade of the comforter.

He feels a separate hand push the bottom of his waistcoat and undershirt higher up his back to reveal more skin. Francis catches his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it in anticipation. He fiddles with his fingers until the first strike meets the tender flesh of his ass.

Francis jerks but settles after a moment. In a quick sequence, five more strokes connect with the skin. The force exerted to the flesh sends a deep ache through Francis, building in his core, sending a warmth through him. Francis wiggles on Master's lap, withholding any sounds due to his pride. With his eyes screwed shut, Francis accepts six more before he makes a tense noise in the back of his throat, fidgeting on Master's lap.

A hand presses down on his lower back, holding him down as Master's palm reconnected multiple times. No doubt Master's hand was tender and sore by now, Francis thinks as he barely muffles a cry. He hides his face in the comforter, hair draping over his features like a curtain. Hands gripping the plush fabric, Francis grits his teeth when Master's strikes become harsher, sending him forward each time, only for him to ease back.

Heat burns deep inside Francis' belly. It makes him pant quietly, feeling perspiration collect at his hairline. A harsh smack presses right onto the most abused place on his reddened backside, making Francis make a pained cry. "Master please, I'm sorry!", he blurts, the aching pain becoming unbearable. By the twenty-something spank, Master stops. Francis had lost count around nineteen.

"Will you think of intruding my privacy again?"

"No", Francis breathlessly murmurs and tries to collect himself, panting down into the comforter as he shifts his hips on Master's lap. A warm hand rests on the aching, tender skin. "Good. If I catch you again, there will be more severe punishments.", he hears spoken softly. Francis nods into the comforter.

"You may stand."

After a moment, Francis slowly eases off of Master's lap, keeping his eyes down as he sits back. He leans against the leg raising from the frame of the bed (Francis never really figured out their proper name), and pants, licking his lips. Then he does process his half-erect penis, swelled with blood, curled around his raised thigh. He furrows his brow, and adjusts his hips, the pressure on his backside both painful and awakening.

Silence remains. Eventually, Francis gains the urge to raise his ocean colored eyes to Master's. Master is gazing at him with an unreadable expression, his hands resting on his thighs as he stared at Francis. Francis blushes and brings his raised knees closer together. He doesn't want Master to realize he had been aroused by that. Then again, he was well aware some sorts of punishment turn him on.

"Francis..", Master begins in a stern, quiet tone, "You may relieve yourself, if you desire." Francis feels his heart leap in his ribcage. He wets his lips with a nervous tongue and flicks his eyes down from Master's penetrating gaze. He feels his stomach clench with both caution and excitement. He hesitates, but does eventually sneak a hand down his belly to lightly touch the pink head of his arousal.

The touch results in him to slightly open his legs wider, so he could get a strong grip around the base. He sighs and closes his eyes. This was strange, for Master to permit him masturbation. But alas, Francis was not complaining. He would prefer to use a finely scented lotion just for this purpose, but he suspects Master does not want him to move about.

So he gives slow pulls until his flushed erection is full under his fingers. He licks his lips and opens his eyes as he spreads his legs, resting his free hand around the base of his cock. Master continues to watch, expressionlessly. But his cheeks are slightly flushed. Francis does not smirk mockingly to him, only keeps his blue eyes on green, and gives quicker tugs to his cock. He curls his toes and fidgets his hips very slightly as he embraces the missed sensations. Master's hands are tightly gripping his thighs, he notices, just before he lets his eyelids fall close again.

Touching himself like this before Master makes his heart beat wildly, more so than usual if he were by himself. With the hand resting at the base of his arousal, he slips it down slowly to stroke at his balls with his fingers, cupping and gripping like Master would sometimes when he would suck him off. He exhales deeply. He slows his hand.

With a little bit of pre-come, it helps with the movement and sensations. The slight slickness makes his strokes feel better. When he cups his fingers tightly around the head, he bites at his lip as he gives short, quick jerks of his hand over the sensitive glands. He feels a tightness in his lower abdomen. It slowly became more intense and hot as he continued. Shortly, he began to pant. He opens his eyes to gaze at Master once more.

Master's expression is still the same, yet his eyes speak differently.

Without a word, Francis orgasms, hand slowing as ropes of his ejaculation paint his rolling stomach. Luckily, Master had previously pushed his top garment higher. But not high enough. Some of it got on the fabric. The concern wasn't on Francis' mind, though. He gasps quietly, eyelids clenching shut as he welcomes the bursts of pleasure. Then his gasps grow silent, replaced with heavy breathing as he eases the rest out with strong pulls of his hand. Then he withdraws his hands and takes a moment to rest, eyes remaining shut.

The bed under him shifts and he snaps his eyelids open to see Master pace away, into the bathroom. Francis makes a disappointed expression before he clears it and begins to sit up. Then Master swiftly returns with quick strides, approaching the bed again. Francis stills and gazes up at him when Master takes a seat beside him. With Francis' legs partially drawn up, Master can reach over to swipe at the ejaculation on Francis' belly.

Francis' face fills with heat and he watches silently as Master cleans away the taint. Francis notices how his hand stills, resting over his stomach. Francis begins to raise his gaze, but realizes how it is obstructed by Master's face when he leans in to kiss him strongly on the lips. Startled, Francis' hands raise in surprise. Then he relaxes and passionately returns it, closing his eyes and resting his hand on Master's warm cheek. The hand on his belly moves to rest over his clothed chest as Master kisses him.

It doesn't last so long. Eventually, after about a minute of them sharing lips, Master pulls away to gaze at him with startlingly dilated pupils. The black covers the majority of the green. It makes Francis smile. Master is very expressive through his eyes. Francis cups his cheek and lets his thumb drift over Master's wet, kissed lips.

"I miss you.", Master whispers, eyes falling to Francis' lips. Francis continues to smile softly. He hums and dips his head in to peck him on the lips. Master quickly returns it.

"We may solve that.", Francis murmurs in reply and then chuckles. Master's expression does not change. He stares at Francis, and then suddenly draws away, sitting back onto the bed. Francis' hand falls from his face. Master removes the dirtied cloth from Francis' lower abdomen and then stands.

"Shortly, we will."

* * *

Its a quiet day within the Kirkland household. No guests, no interruptions. Master had his day off today. Currently, Francis and Master were gathered within the sitting room. The soft rainfall drummed against the window and the roof. Master sat curled on the couch with a soft blanket draped over his waist, a book held in his long thin fingers, his piercing emerald eyes drawn down to it's contents. Much like his Master, Francis was gazing down at his novel, sitting in the arm chair lazily with his arm perched on the arm rest, elbow supporting the weight of his head in the palm of his hand. Navy blue eyes drifting over the words, Francis sighed once the words and sentences began to jumble together. Its been about an hour since they started reading together, and frankly, he was bored.

He didn't feel like disturbing Master (shockingly), so he merely sighed to himself, shut his book, and turned his head to gaze out the wet window to his side. The drops of condensation falling from the ominous clouds above grasped Francis' attention for a while. Until he grew impatient with that, and then averted his gaze to Master. He stared at Master's messy blonde hair and his eyelashes that shown easier, due to his gaze falling downward. A long few minutes of silence continued, which was disrupted occasionally by the turning of Master's pages.

"Master, I'm bored.", he grumbled, earning a flicker from Master's eyes. The gaze lasted a few seconds, then Master dropped his gaze and said, "You don't have to remain here on my behalf. Go and do as you wish." That wasn't a very satisfying response for Francis. But, nonetheless, he stood and set his book on the windowsill, before he strode out of the sitting room, not providing a remark to his Master. He quietly shut the doors to the sitting room.

Standing in the lobby with the lights dimmed and rain pattering, Francis realized that this was the most freedom he had been granted whenever Master was around. Master usually wanted Francis by his side all the time. Humming thoughtfully, Francis wonders if their previous conversation had altered some of the routine. With that thought drifting through his mind, he paced towards the grand staircase. But he hesitated with his hand on the banister.

He knew he would just be bored in their bedroom. So, instantly he thought of a way to preoccupy himself. He pushed open one of the doors to the dining room across from the sitting room, and then made his way around the large table to push past the side door into the kitchen. Luckily, the maids already finished their duties in the kitchen. He had about two hours before the evening meal were to be prepared. That would definitely be enough time to bake Master some cookies, one of his favorite foods. Even if Master would be displeased with him using the kitchen (which isn't likely, but who knows with that guy), he would appreciate the cookies. Er, biscuits, Francis sarcastically thought to himself as he withdrew a pan, set up the whisker machine, and gathered the appropriate utensils and mixtures.

Once it was all spread out on the pristine counter, he tied an apron around his waist, tied his hair in a low pony tail (he always kept a spare hair tie on his wrist), and then rolled the sleeves to his typically expensive sweater up to his elbows.

With the cookies baking in the oven, Francis took a moment to wipe his hands off, and prepare himself some hot chocolate. It was appropriate, seeing as it was rather chilly today. He gave a grateful sigh as he poured the steaming water into the glass, the billows of steam climbing up from the cup as he set the kettle back down onto a separate burner. Then he took a long spoon from the drawer and gave the liquid a quick ten spins before disposing of the spoon into the sink for him to take care of later. The clock ticked quietly to his side as he lifted the glass into his hold, curling his long fingers around the body of it and blowing gently into the swirling brown drink.

There he stood, leaning against the counter with a warm glass in his hands, for a solid five minutes, staring distantly at his feet as he took short sips of the steaming beverage, thinking back on the time he would prepare meals for both himself and Arthur every day. As he took a drink of his hot cocoa, the timer on the over went off, and he messily set the drink on the counter to turn off the timer. He pulled open the oven slightly to judge the cookies. They were perfect, as per usual.

With quick movements, he turned off the oven, pulled open the door, slipped on a mitten and withdrew the tray of nicely baked cookies. He set the tray on the stove while simultaneously shutting the door with his hip. He hadn't prepared many cookies; just enough to satisfy Master and himself.

He had already put everything away, so he had room to withdraw a plate and set it on the counter. Glancing at the clock, he had about 49 minutes until dinner. Well, then they shouldn't spoil their appetites with the treats. Francis could heat them up later. Maybe Master will want one though..

Anyways, he is swift, but precise, as he removes the cookies from the tray, placing them in circles on the plate. Then he sets the tray and spatula he used to remove the cookies into the dish washer among the other things he had dirtied, before closing it. It wasn't full enough to start it, so he let it be. With the plate of warm cookies sitting on the counter, waiting to be consumed, he hurried to down the rest of his hot cocoa. He quickly added it to the dish washer before he removed his apron, hung it, and grabbed the plate. With a hurried pace, he exits the kitchen and the dining room.

He runs into Master at the entry way, nearly dropping the plate of fresh cookies. With annoyance, Francis gives Master a glare as he re-positions the cookies. "There you are.", Master speaks, crossing his arms, "I was looking for you."

"Yes you have found me, congratulations."

That earned him a scowl. But really, he was still upset that he almost dropped the damn plate. The concern eased away once Master's eyes drifted down to the cookies. He stares and processes what he's looking at, and then gives a light smile.

"These are my favorite biscuits.", he muses, lifting his eyes to Francis'. Francis hums, "Yes, well, I knew that, that is why I made them specifically." Master arches a brow, "You made this for me?" Francis gives a light smile.

"I did, but seeing as its", he begins and takes a moment to glance back at the clock on the dining room wall, before turning back to Master, "thirty minutes before the maids begin preparing our dinner, I realized we should not ruin our appetite."

"Oh come on, one bloody biscuit won't fill me."

Francis gives a quick laugh, and then quirks a brow at him, with tray still in his hand, standing close to Master, "I know how much you are able to eat in one sitting, Master, and no matter how small the cookie may be, it will quell your interest in food for a while."

"Shut it, you made it, so I will eat it.", Master snaps as he snatches one of the cookies off. That makes Francis chuckle. He then turns and approaches the dining table. He hears Master follow, as he sets the plate on the surface with a quiet clink. With the legs squeaking on the floor, Francis pulls out a seat to claim it. Master follows suit, sitting at the head of the table, Francis to his side. The Frenchman smiles gently, propping his chin in his hands, elbow on the table. He watches as Master takes a silent bite of the cookie. Master's downcast eyes closes momentarily, and he sighs as he rests his arm with the cookie onto the table. Francis grins widely at him, and Master quietly thanks him.

Francis feels comforted by the silence as Master savors his small cookie with small bites, pausing to appreciate the taste. His other arm rests on the table to the side of the plate, towards Francis, with his hand lightly curled into a fist. Francis doesn't hesitate to slide his free hand over to curl his warm fingers around Master's cold ones. Master flickers his eyes to him, and then gives a light squeeze in response.

Then, Master stops nibbling on the cookie, and stares at him suddenly. He lowers the cookie and squints at Francis. Francis arches a brow, smiling with amusement. "You're not trying to seduce me with these biscuits, are you?", Master accuses, with a light scowl, but doesn't pull his hand away. With a few blinks, Francis stares at him before he begins to laugh quietly, looking at Master with amusement in his eyes.

"You think I would resort to cookies for such a thing?"

"Yes."

"Why seduce when I already have you?"

That makes Master's suspicious scowl drop, and then he smiles lightly after a moment of staring at Francis. Francis watches him silently. He feels the hand in his move, withdrawing, and Francis is momentarily disappointed, but the disappointment is replaced with surprise when Master's slender hand gently slides over his forearm, rustling the rows of light colored hair. Francis is aware it isn't meant to be suggestive. Master is merely feeling him. The soft fingers to the hand curls around the muscle to his forearm, and squeezes gently.

Francis smiles lightly at Arthur, and Arthur returns it. He watches with is dark ocean colored eyes as Master sets the half eaten cookie down onto the plate, and leans past the corner of the dining table to reach Francis' lips, his head tilted slightly as their lips meet.

Raising his other arm, Francis lets his warm fingers rest over the back of Arthur's neck, feeling the hairs at the nape and the soft skin. Arthur kisses him with a tenderness, his hand moving up his forearm, feeling the delicate hairs and the warm skin as he goes, and rests it at the crook of his elbow. Their lips embrace for a long minute, the sounds of their kissing mixing with the quiet ticking of the clock. Then Arthur pulls away and looks briefly into Francis' eyes, and Francis sees the words that are painted across Arthur's irises. Francis gives a smile.

Then Master sits back and finishes his cookie, before he quietly stands and clears his throat.

"After we have our meal, bring the biscuits to our bedroom, yeah?"

And then he turns to leave the dining room, Francis watching him as he goes. Francis continues to smile to himself with joy as he takes a hold of the plate, and stands with the chair complaining. But it is far from his mind as he thinks about how charming Master could be.

* * *

The shared dinner they had was peaceful, and they revisited memories from their past as they ate the meal the maids had produced for them. By that time, the rain had ceased. Once they had completed their meal and stood to return to their bedroom, maids instantly dispersed to clean up after them.

Now Francis was following Master down the hallway, their footsteps quiet as they approach their bedroom door. The bedroom was dark when they both entered, but shortly Master turned on the bedside lamp with a quiet click, and the dim light bathed the bedroom in shadows. Remaining by the doorway, Francis watched silently as Master proceeded to remove his waistcoat with slow hands. When the article of clothing was draped over the bed, Master turned to approach him again. Francis wondered why he only removed his waistcoat.

Master stared into Francis' irises with a blank look, and Francis had no choice but to remain standing by the closed door, returning the gaze. Then Master began to kiss him, hands lightly holding his cheeks, stubble touching his palms. Francis gently returned it. He was surprised to find it only lasted a moment, and then Master mouthed at his neck. Drawing his head to the side, Francis dropped his gaze to the waistcoat draped on the bed as Master's soft lips moved up towards his ear. Francis had no idea what Master intended to do, but the possibilities excited him.

Then pressure met at his crotch, and Francis nearly leapt. But he realized it was Master's hand, and he relaxed. Fingers gripped at his penis through the layers of his slacks and underwear, and Francis let out a shaky breath. He bit his lip as Master's other hand curled around his neck, gentle lips resting over the corner of his jawline.

Francis felt turned on as Master's hand firmly gripped him through his pants. "Master-", he quietly murmured, but he was cut off with a sharp word. "Quiet." With just Master's hand keeping a hold on his cock, he already became half-erect. Francis was silent. Then Master's hand released, as did Master's lips. Francis expected to meet eye with him, but realized Master was lowering himself onto his knees.

"I thought you said I would not see this again..", Francis comments as Master works on the belt to his slacks, the noise of metal on metal filling the room. Master mutters, "Shut it.", before he roughly undoes the button and the zipper. He draws down both Francis' trousers and his underwear. Francis gazes down at him as he wets his lips with his tongue. When Master's warm hand curled around the shaft of his arousal, Francis lets out a quiet exhale. After three long pulls, Master leans in, and Francis can see as his pink tongue slides out to roll over the head of his cock. Francis hums and raises a hand to stroke it over the crown of Master's head.

There isn't much teasing, as Master typically includes. He almost instantly captures the pink head in his mouth, giving gentle sucks as he holds his erection by the base, fingers resting over Francis' skin. Master's warm tongue rubs over the sensitive glands on the underside as he applies stronger suction, and Francis nearly curses. But he holds it and instead, he clenches his eyes shut.

"Those cookies really did the trick then, huh?", he breathlessly says and Master grazes him with his teeth and Francis hisses. "Please accept my sincerest apologies", Francis sarcastically murmurs, but Master does not retaliate this time. Instead he takes more of the flushed shaft in his mouth, giving slow bobs of his head.

Francis strokes his fingers over Master's blonde messy hair, and then draws his bangs back, gazing down at Master's closed eyes and his wet lips secured around the width of his cock. And damn, was that sexy. Francis lets out a deep exhale, and closes his eyes too. The wet warmth around his erection was something Master hadn't granted him in a while.

Master seemed impatient, because he swallows down the rest of him, his nose burying into Francis' trimmed pubic hairs. Master's brow furrows tightly, Francis distantly notices as he groans quietly. Master holds it in his throat for a moment, and then withdraws with a quiet gasp. He gives quick tugs to Francis' wet arousal, keeping his gaze down as he catches his breath. Then he takes him back in his mouth. Francis is mildly surprised he is already so close, but it has been a while after all. He isn't sure if Master just intended to get him off like this, or if this was simply foreplay. It doesn't seem that way when Master begins to move his head again.

As he gazed down, watching Master, Francis gently ran his fingers through his short blonde hair. His fingers gripped some locks once he felt the tightening sensation grow taut in his lower belly. "Master..", he begins in a murmur, "May I come?" He puts an effort it to withholding the release, until he is given the confirmation. When Master withdraws, keeping the tip within his mouth, he raises his emerald green eyes to Francis, and that nearly breaks Francis' concentration.

The glance must be permission, because Master begins to suck gently, slender fingers gripping the wet base as he hallows his cheeks. Francis groans and cranes his head back, collar jingling, and lets it go. He pants as he feels the taut spring in his belly release, sending a feeling of relief and relaxation through him. He strokes Master's bangs back. Then Master sits back, and Francis opens his eyes to see him wiping his lips off with his brow furrowed.

Francis pants quietly while Master pulls out his embroidered handkerchief and promptly wipes off Francis' penis, before turning the cloth over and placing it over his mouth to dispose of Francis' ejaculation. He then stands, looks at Francis, and then turns to approach the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. He lets the filthy handkerchief fall into it before he moves to his dresser.

Silently, Francis straightens himself, brushes back his hair with a hand, and then suddenly feels awfully awkward as Master grabs his pyjamas. With the folded articles of clothing in his hand, Master stands once more and says, "I am going to read before going to bed. I want you to remain in here with me. I don't care what you do." Then he enters the adjoined bathroom and locks the door behind him.

With a sigh, Francis runs his hands over his face, and then he drops them to stare at the bed. Then, he follows Master's suit and retrieves his pyjamas before he begins to undress.

Master had emerged just as he finished changing. Now, they lay side by side on their bed, below the comforter. Master had his book, Francis his thoughts. With his legs crossed under the covers, Francis absentmindedly taps his fingers on the fabric of the blanket as he stares at the floral painting across from them on the wall. The light gives a mellow feeling to the room and atmosphere. Francis hears Master shift about.

Which was uncommon when he is enveloped in a book. Francis flicks his gaze over, and just manages to catch Master's hand hidden under the comforter, no doubt adjusting whatever what was going on down there. He smirks.

Without hesitating or asking, Francis slips his hand over to grope where Master's hand previously was. "What the-", Master begins in angry surprise, "Knock it off!" He bats away Francis' hand but Francis already could tell he was somewhat hard.

"Come now, Master", Francis begins in a chiding tone, giving Master a look, "You don't need to hide from me. Not to mention you said you didn't care what I planned to do.." He notices a deep red stain Master's cheeks, his eyes stubbornly dropping back to his book. Master remains silent. So Francis touches him again, and feels the stiff shape of his arousal though the fabric of his pyjama pants. He watches Master's flushed face as he slips his hand under the waistbands of his bottoms and underwear. He grabs him, and Master catches his bottom lip between his teeth.

Francis gives five slow pulls until he paused, keeping warm fingers around the thickening shaft, to pull back the comforter, as well as Master's pyjamas. He watches as he gives soft strokes, seeing the foreskin of Master's penis envelop the pink head, capturing the bead of pre-cum.

"Your cock is cute", Francis nonchalantly comments and Master smacks him on the shoulder, making Francis chuckle a few times, smiling. Yet, Master doesn't verbally retaliate. Francis raises his eyes to Master's, and sees how he's watching silently as well.

"Hand me the bottle would you?", Francis speaks, motioning towards the nightstand with his free hand. Silently, Master reaches over, tilting his body to the side from the distance (Francis letting his hand follow), and then pulls open the drawer to shuffle around in it, until he finds the half-empty bottle of oil-based lubrication. He hands it to Francis with a wary expression.

Removing his hand to squirt some lube into the palm, he gives Master's hesitant expression a smirk, and then closes the bottle, setting it to his side. He is quick to take a hold on Master's flushed erection again, and Master hisses, frail hands grabbing onto the comforter. "Idiot, let it warm first!", he snaps, and Francis apologizes with a bat of his eyelids, making Master huff at him. Then he grows silent when the friction warms it swiftly, with how quick the pumps were of Francis' wet hand.

"This is perhaps the simplest thing we've done in a while, huh?", Francis murmurs as he gives long, full strokes, watching as Master's face slowly becomes more lax. He doesn't reply. So Francis moves onto his shins, facing Master, and briefly strokes with his other hand to get it wet. Then he secures it around the base and uses his other hand to capture the head tight in his fingers, and gave short, quick strokes. Master's hips fidgeted and a strained hum emits from him, eyelids falling across his bottle green eyes. Francis smiles lightly, knowing well enough this was the most pleasing for him. Even as Master's waist became desperate in it's twitching and his knees raised slightly, Francis continues the onslaught of quick strokes to the head, until Master let out a harsh exhale.

"Jesus, Francis, are you trying to make me finish so quickly?", Master hisses quietly, hands tightly clenching the covers as he fights to keep still. Francis couldn't hold back the soft chuckles, and then obliges the vague plead by giving long, slow strokes to the entirety of Master. Master pants quietly, eyebrows releasing the tenseness, and his eyelids raise for him to settle his gaze on Francis' amused expression.

Whenever the foreskin to his cock squeezes over the head, it elicits a bit of pre-cum, the thicker substance collecting until it falls down the underside of the head. It looks entirely appetizing to Francis. Master's pants are more labored, and soon he begins to let out quiet moans, deep in his throat. Francis leans over to mouth at Master's lips, and instantly one of the hands gripping the covers raises to slide into Francis' messy blonde locks as the sharing of a lips is returned with eagerness. Master takes sharp breaths every few moments between the kissing and Francis finds it to be enticing. Francis could almost become hard again from this, but he had orgasmed so recently.

"Francis, Francis, I'm going to come", Master whispers into his lips and Francis pulls back instantly to move to Master's cock, leaning over to capture the flushed head into his mouth, giving gentle sucks as he continues to stroke. He knows Master would not want to make a mess. Almost instantly, warm ropes of come land onto his tongue and he grants Master a hum as he accepts the substance into his mouth. He continues to apply suction, even after the ejaculation ceases, until Master curls fingers into his long hair, giving a small tug. Then he sits back, and exhales through his nose.

Consuming what comes from his Master does not bother him in the slightest. Following the orgasm, Francis stands from the bed, leaving Master panting and recovering, and enters the bathroom to locate a folded hand towel in one of the finely designed cabinets. Returning to the bed, he sits with his legs over the side, and reaches over to wipe away the lubrication and saliva on Master's penis. Master grumbles, "Sensitive."

Francis smiles to himself as he stands to dispose of the sullied towel into the laundry hamper. Then he is quick to return to Master on the bed. By then, Master had righted himself. His pyjamas were back in order, his book back in his hands, face as expressionless as always. Francis leans over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Master glances at him, but that is all he is given. Francis slips under the covers, snuggles up to Master's slender side, and then closes his eyes, nuzzling his head deeper into the endless plush of his pillow. He sighs gently and then murmurs, "I definitely missed that."

Silence follows, and then instead of a smack (which he anticipated), it was a tender hand that strokes over the side of his head, over his soft hair. He gladly accepts the gesture. The hand doesn't cease the loving touching, until it leaves to shut Master's book and turn off the lamp. Francis' eyelids are no longer tinted with a red, and everything falls to darkness. He opens his eyes, and its blank, until his eyes adjust with the moonlight through the single window to their side. He watches as Master settles under the sheets. He turns onto his side. Yet, this time, he is facing Francis. Francis smiles at him (he couldn't entirely see if Master was looking at him or not), before he shifts closer. Master doesn't respond.

So, Francis eases his arm around Master's slim side, pulling him close in an embrace. Master only softly exhales, and then he surprisingly wiggles closer, hiding his face in Francis' chest. It makes Francis' heart clench in adoration and Francis nearly squeaks. He doesn't though. He's too suave for that.

* * *

"I have a gift for you.", Master announces when he returns from work the next day. Francis is sitting at Master's desk in the bedroom, lamp on and hand poised to write in his journal, when Master strides in. Francis glances over his shoulder and blinks a few times, staring at Master and his...excited expression. Francis quirks a brow minutely in surprise, and then shuts his journal, before he stands from the desk and approaches him with easy steps. Master smiles at him and produces a golden wrapped square from inside his coat pocket.

With slow movements due to his surprise (it was a pleased surprise), Francis takes it from him and eyes him. Master motions towards the gift. Francis takes his time to remove the wrapping paper, and then he is staring at a black box, the size of a CD case and the width of a moderately sized book spine. Lifting the cover, he sees, what appears to be, a ribbon based collar, resting atop smooth cotton. He is appalled to notice how it has no sorts of locks, or fine leather, or ring for a leash. It is simply a shade of light navy blue, with an amethyst jewel dangling from the center. He glances at Master, and then drops his gaze back to the collar as he reaches in to feel the fabric.

Its soothingly soft. There were about three hooks on the back of it, much like a bra strap, but it was of steel, not plastic. Francis was stunned. He raises his eyes to Master and is given a light smile in return. "I thought it would suit you more than a heavy leather thing. And yours is getting rather old and worn, yeah? Wearing it in the shower would do that. But with this, you can remove it before hand.", Master drones on for a little bit, probably anxious for Francis' response. Francis smiles bright and leans over to kiss him on the lips with a strong peck.

"I adore it, thank you.", he honestly gushes, and Master's smile extends. Before Master can reply, Francis says, "Can I put it on now?"

"Of course. Let me help."

They move to the mirror above one of the dressers, and Francis sets the black container on the surface before he draws his long locks to the side. Master retrieves the necklace holding the key from around his neck, and then works on unlocking the leather collar. Francis pulls it away once its released. He sets it aside beside the silk collar and raises the more appealing one over his shoulder, for Master to take. As Master gently eases it around Francis' neck, they meet eyes in the mirror, and then Master secures the soft collar with a noise of steel on steel.

Francis strokes his finger tips over the soft fabric and the jewel as well, before he drops his hair back into place and turns to smile at Master. "Thank you.", he murmurs, knowing that this has much more meaning than a simple gift. Master was showing him he had more choice, more decision in this relationship. Francis is given the freedom of whether he wants to adorn the collar or not. The lack of a lock shows Master's trust in him. Francis cups Master's warm neck and leans in to softly kiss him.

"You are a wonderful master, I could not ask for more."

* * *

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**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, work and school consume my time.


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